Sideways and Forwards
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Continuation, with his permssion, of Ghosthands' 'Lateral Move'. Tony leaves Gibbs' team after 'Hiatus', and is promoted to his own, small team in DC. Nothing goes smoothly, and relationships are fraught. Then Tony is assigned the last case on earth he'd want to work.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Regular supporters – bless you – will know that this is a new thing for me. Concrit will always be appreciated, but please bear in mind that I'm working according to another writer's wishes. **

**I'd often wondered what it would have been like if, after the hiatus, when Gibbs returned he'd changed so much there was only the 2nd B left, and always thought that 'Lateral Move', which I'd enjoyed very much, had that feel to it.**

**Ghosthands has given me carte blanche about all but one thing that he insists on, (what, I can't say because it'll give things away...) and I've studied the reviews he got for the original story, so something I WILL say because if any Tiva readers have come on board after reading it, is that I'll be dialling back on that aspect. You know me, I don't ship Tiva, (I prefer not to ship at all, although I have done occasionally at other people's request) and he felt as the story went along that more reviewers _didn't_ want than did.**

**As time has moved on a few days from the Daniels case that Gibbs' team were working, I'm going with that case having been closed, and a fresh one being worked.**

**Making a long AN even longer by apologising for its being so long!**

Sideways and Forward

by scousemuz1k

Well, Alex thought, one thing she'd already learned was that Tony could surprise her. He sat and thought for a few minutes, then looked across at her; with the limited space available they'd pushed their desks together so that they faced each other.. "Alex?"

His probie heard the serious tone in his voice and lifted her head from her work. "Boss?"

He winced internally; he didn't know how he felt about being called that... he tried to figure out what Alex had called him up to now, and it had just been his name, as far as he could recall, after he'd told her not to say 'sir'. Boss... it _had_ been a sign of respect when he'd used it... he hadn't told her not to, but it had come out of left field. He'd have to let it ride for a while, see how he dealt.

"Tony?" She was puzzled at his silence; he shook himself and grinned.

"I was thinking..." He was as awkward about saying it as she'd been about asking. "I'd hate to disappoint a young lady – especially one as charming as Princess Jasmine. It might be a good idea for me to accept her invitation, so she and your Aunt Jackie can have a serious look at the guy you're working for." He chuckled. "Might reassure your aunt that I'm not some loony who breaks into bedrooms waving a gun."

"Well, yes, that sounds good..."

"There's something else though," he went back to being serious, and the awkward look came back onto his face. This was so difficult... and he was a pro of how many years? "Those rules I said I'd tell you as we went along... Gibbs had one, rule twelve..."

Alex grinned. "Don't tell me, no office dating. I get it. You're my Boss. That's why I was embarrassed about asking."

Tony laughed, relieved and pleased at her sharpness. "Yeah... me too. It wouldn't be professional – not that you're not hot, Special Agent Dominguez!" He put on an exaggerated leer, that made Alex giggle, then nodded thoughtfully. "I think we have the makings of a good team, and that's what we'll be best at. What?" The look on his probie's face could only be described as guilty, with a side order of happy.

"I sent a picture of you to some of my girlfriends in Norfolk", she said. "They're all green with envy and wanting to scratch my eyes out." They both laughed loud enough for Gibbs, who was passing, to glare in their direction; inside Tony ached, outwardly he kept his attention on his partner.

"Well, I'd love to come to dinner, and now that's out of the way, where are we with our drug thieving PO?"

"I keep looking down this list and thinking the guy was nuts," Alex said with a sigh. Tony raised his eyebrows encouragingly and waited. "He didn't just steal painkillers," she said in a puzzled tone. "It seems like he stole things there was no black market for... _anything_ that was available to steal, eyewash packs, _suppositories_ – " she pulled a 'ewww' face - "until he'd taken fifty thousand dollars worth – think how much that'd be in today's aspirin..."

"So he was a drug kleptomaniac," Tony continued.

"Or a complete hypochondriac," Alex added.

"Who was everything from lactose intolerant to pregnant..." Tony agreed, then they looked at each other with light dawning, and said together, "Or he wanted to stock a pharmacist's shop!"

They laughed again, and Tony thought it was good to work again with someone he could share a joke with like this; he thought of his old team, the old days, and shoved the thought aside before it could get to his face and spoil the moment. "Nah..." he said, "It couldn't be... hell, it could."

"Why not?" Alex asked cheerfully. "So many patent medicines on the list... wait, wait, wait – where have I heard that word pharmacist before?" She began to tap her keyboard, and Tony walked round to her desk to lean over her shoulder and see what she was doing. "I'm sure it's somewhere in his history," she said, and he bent to look at her screen. "Stop racing me," she said severely.

"OK, not a competition, I know." She'd jogged his memory and he 'd remembered, but he kept quiet and let his probie find it.

"There," she said triumphantly. "He joined the Navy when he didn't get good enough grades in high school to go to college to study _pharmacy_!"

Tony said "Smart thinking, Batgirl," and she looked at him, eyes shining with delight that she'd made the breakthrough. He smiled back, until his face grew thoughtful again. "So... maybe we've got this Walter Mitty sort of character, who's found a way to live out his dream... but if he wasn't good enough in the first place -"

"He could be out there giving people the wrong advice," Alex said worriedly. "He could have _been_ doing it for the last ten years. Not good."

"We'll find him. Now, how do we organise our search parameters..."

They were too far away for Ziva to hear what they were saying, but she watched the laughter, and how close Tony stood to his partner's shoulder. She observed the intensity and the seriousness that followed, and frowned to herself. Surely Tony could not be hitting on his probie, after all they'd talked about? She watched him walk back to his own desk and knew him well enough to think she was indulging in unnecessary jealousy, but by the time, barely fifteen minutes later, that the two picked up their guns and left, she'd realised something unpalatable. _Her _partner working with, and looking oh so comfortable with a new, good looking female partner, was not something she'd be able to endure with any sort of patience – or goodwill. Whatever he'd said about his feelings, and yes, she believed him, maybe it was best if they weren't able to meet up tonight; she wasn't in the mood.

Gibbs looked up at the wrong moment to see her looking across the partition; he didn't have to stand up to know what she was looking at. "David, do you have a problem with working this case?"

She sat down slowly. "I am waiting for Metro PD to call me back, and for Abby to call me with the results of the blood analysis, and I am running a search for the tyre pattern, from the information that local motorcycle shops have sent me. I have..." she looked at her screen, "three possible matches so far." She did not expect a reply, nor did she get one.

The next morning things went from bad to worse. Tony was in a slightly edgy mood, having waited up for Ziva; she'd finally texted him at around midnight to say she couldn't make the movie, but hadn't phoned to speak to him, or explained why not.

"Hey... DiNozzo!" The voice that hailed him as he came out of the elevator was full of surprise.

"Marchetti... good trip?"

"Oh yeah... had to show young George off to all the relatives, not just the parents, you know... we seem to have hundreds. I'm just about 'aww... googoo'd out... but hey... you still here? I heard you quit!"

Tony stiffened, and Marchetti didn't miss it. "When d'you hear that?"

"Just before Dawn and me went up to Wisconsin, man. Hey, it's not true then! Glad to see it – I was a bit shocked."

Tony smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks Dave... let me guess, Gibbs said I'd quit, right?"

"Well... now you know why I was so shocked."

The newest Supervisory Special Agent shook his head, and his tone was a bit more biting than he'd intended, although he kept the volume down. "No, _he_ quit. And came back. _I_ got promoted." He hauled back on the anger with an effort; this wasn't Dave Marchetti's fault. "You hear him telling anyone else that, I'd kinda appreciate it if you put them right."

Marchetti frowned in bewilderment. "Be glad to, Tony," he assured the other man. "Why's Gibbs -" Tony tried to hush him with a shrug, but the other team leader was on a roll. "Way I see it, he wouldn't have had a team to come back to but for you. Congratulations on the promotion. 'Bout time." He went on his way, and Tony moved towards his desk, aware of Tim sitting at his old one, trying to look as if he hadn't heard a thing, and Gibbs standing over by the tall windows, coffee in hand, glaring at him.

_What did I do, Boss?_

He sat down and clenched his hands together in his lap. Hell, he told Leroy Jethro Gibbs where to get off the bus, that was what. But he knew that however great his capacity for shouldering the blame might be, that wasn't where it had started. He could have forgiven the Boss... ex boss... his departure; hell, who was he to forgive a man who'd endured what Gibbs had? He was ready to welcome him back, step aside, had done so without a fuss... so why had he been treated like he had? And why was Gibbs continuing the campaign to drive him from the team when he'd already _done_ it?

_What did I do, Boss?_

AWOL Petty Officer, thief and bogus pharmacist Charles Hewson had been located, and arrested by LEOs in Altoona, PA, who were holding him while they investigated whether or not they had anything to charge him with, before contacting Tony to find out what he wanted them to do with him. He decided to go down to see Ducky to get background information on some of the drugs he was most anxious about mis-prescription of, (and although he may not have consciously realised it, to get a dose of Mallard sanity, maybe with a moral story attached.) He left a note to tell Alex where he was, as she'd promised to pick up breakfast on her way in.

As he stepped into the elevator, Ziva slipped in before the doors closed. He looked at her silently, damping down his edginess again; he'd almost snapped Marchetti's head off, he didn't want to do it again. She reached for the stop button, and that was too much for him.

"Uh uh, Zi. We're not doing a Gibbs here. We'll talk outside autopsy, or go back up top. I am _through_ with talking in elevators."

"Of course," she said stiffly, and they rode down in silence.

As they stepped out of the steel box, he turned to her with a smile. "Now, what can I do for you, my ninja?"

"Do not make fun of me, Tony."

"Wasn't aware that I was, Ziva," he chided very quietly. "But I'm not Gibbs, as I've been told so many times, and I'm not into elevator talk any more." He wondered why _she _was so prickly today; he knew what was up with_ him_. "What's up? Gibbs being difficult?"

"He kept us late last night when there was no need – the biker who died caused the accident, and was directly responsible for the injuries to the two sailors in the car. I am sorry I did not make it to see the movie with you, Tony."

He led her as gently as he could. "I guess... by the time you got away you were just too tired to come over. Your text … sounded tired."

"How can a text sound anything? You are angry that I did not call."

"Do I sound angry to you? And _you_ wanted to talk to _me,_ remember. It's just it broke your usual habit, so I was anxious. Gibbs hasn't got me to go off at any more... is he taking it out on you and McGee?"

Ziva sighed. "He is no worse than his worst... but he is _always_ at his worst. Did I say that right? We wish you had stayed. We look for you to lighten the tension -"

"You look for me to take the flack, like I used to," he said without heat. "You see now why I'd had enough?" He frowned. "'We wish you had stayed?' This is the 'we' who left me out of Gibbs' homecoming celebration, right?" Ziva could find no more answer to that than she had the day he'd found out. His eyes grew distant for a moment as he recalled what he'd been thinking before he headed for the elevator, and she looked at him enquiringly. "I could have got my respect for him back... gone on working for him... if he'd let me. If he'd wanted me to. I don't know what I did to make him dislike me so much, and if I asked him he sure wouldn't tell me."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Anyhow, none of this was enough to hold up the elevator for – what did you want to tell me? Ask me?"

"I have said it now - I am sorry I missed the movie."

Now it was his turn to look at her quizzically. He knew Ziva well enough to be sure there was more. He waited, and the 'I know better than that' look on his face eventually made her flush. "You do not believe me. Then I will tell you. I have watched you and your probie together... yesterday, when you were leaning over her shoulder, you were both laughing, you looked... close... it is not wise to be hitting on your subordinate, Tony!"

She knew she should have controlled herself better, held her tongue; she'd known it was only her own insecurities that were doing this, and if she was not sure of her feelings for him, why was she insecure? Whatever – it had been the wrong thing to say. Tony's face was completely under control, but his voice wasn't.

"Her name is Alex, Ziva. And you really have to trust me to know what's wise and what isn't where my own agent's concerned. It's not your problem." Ziva knew he could have said 'none of your damn business', and would have done if he were speaking to anyone else. Her phone buzzed. "And do you recall a word of what we talked about the other night?" He gestured at her hip pocket. "That'll be Gibbs. Better not keep him waiting." He spun on his heel and would have marched through the autopsy doors, but he had to wait until they opened. He stood rigid, his back ramrod straight until the gap was wide enough to slip through; she watched him for a moment, then turned back towards the elevator, taking her phone out as she did so.

As she rode back up, she punched the wall in frustration. He was right to get angry... and he was, even if he didn't yell. Why had she said anything? Did she want his reassurance? She should not need it! She should trust him... it had hurt him that Gibbs no longer trusted him, and now she was doing the same. She was about ready to bite as she stormed back into the bull pen, but Gibbs and McGee were not there. The message on her phone had said 'G.Y.G.', so she grabbed her gear and hurried after them down to the car.

Autopsy was empty. He didn't know where Ducky and Jimmy were, but why would he; he wasn't investigating nice fresh murders right now. He walked over to the drawers and put his hand on one-oh-seven. Kate's drawer. He knew it had only been occupied a couple of times since then; Ducky didn't use it if he had any choice. Both times it had held innocent women. Other than the ME and his assistant, Tony was the only person in the building who was privy to that information.

"Helluva lot gone on since you were around, Kate," he murmured. "And I don't have a freakin' clue what to do about it. Gibbs hates me, McGee pretends I don't exist. Abby denies there's a problem – or so I hear – and now I've made Ziva mad."

_'Not how I saw it,'_ the thought seemed to have Kate's voice. _'You seem to be the one who's angry.'_

"I thought she... ahh, it doesn't matter." The doors opened with a hiss as he strode towards them, and he headed up the stairs at a run rather than wait for the elevator again. Kate's voice pursued him upwards; _'do what's right, it's the best you __**can **__do.'_

"What's right, Katie?"

_'You'll know.'_

Alex was at her desk, munching on a bagel and looking at a file, a small frown teasing her brows. A paper sack sat beside a hot drink cup on Tony's desk; he said 'morning', and dived into it with a word of thanks, plastering on a cheerful mood before asking her about the document. She bit her lip, and regarded him seriously.

"What?"

"Director Sheppard just brought this one personally."

"Really?" His eyebrows rose in instant wariness.

"Oh, yes. She said to tell Tony her door's open, but to read it through properly before he goes storming up there. She said you wouldn't like it – and you won't – but to look at it anyway. I saw your note and thought shall I follow him down, or shall I use my initiative and start checking this out for him?"

"Fair enough. What won't I like?"

Alex turned the file round and pushed it towards him, coaxing it around the trail of wires from both their computers, which ran messily down in the narrow gap between their desks. She leaned over and pointed silently with a pencil to the line below the name, date, seven years ago, and case-file number, and Tony groaned – it was only 8am, and the day had just got even worse.

_'Investigating agent: L. J. Gibbs.'_

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Well, HUGE number of alerts... heartfelt thanks for all the interest – now I'm going to have to get this right!**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 2

Alex studied her boss's face as he stared down at the file. It was almost as if he wasn't seeing it, his focus wide and never shifting. She thought of his rule ten, but he looked up at exactly that moment. Clearly, notwithstanding the abstracted look, (not the first time she'd observed that,) he was well aware of his surroundings.

"Sorry," he said. "You need an explanation, and I've not given you one so far, although you've seen something's going on. It's just... difficult to talk about, to be honest." He thought for a moment. "We'll go out of the building for lunch – I'll tell you then." Alex went on studying his face, and it seemed to her that the most obvious emotion amongst the many was sadness. He smiled tiredly. "C'mon, let's find an empty conference room. Need to spread out a bit – we've only one hard copy of everything. We do _not _want to be overlooked studying this. Help me read through, tell me what you think."

For the next hour there was mostly silence, the papers strewn about as one or other of them checked back on something they'd already read. In the end, Tony looked at his probie and raised his eyebrows in that encouraging way he used. Alex didn't smile. "Back in a minute," she said gravely. She got up and left the room, heading for the canteen, and was surprised to see the rapidly disappearing back of Officer David ahead of her.

It didn't take much more than the promised minute before she was back with coffee for herself, and tea for Tony. She bit her lip. "I know you said you'd tell me at lunch time," she said slowly. "Just tell me for now – Gibbs – like him? Hate him? Trust him?"

"Trusted him. Don't know now. Used to be friends. Kind of."

"Tony... there's just... hell, there's a hint that maybe your former friend tampered with evidence." It came out in a rush, and she waited for the explosion.

"Explain."

"You already know."

Tony smiled to rob his words of reproof. "Need to hear it from you, Alex. Give."

"Well... it was just one thing that set me off really... then I found... it's not much, really..."

"Really?" Tony echoed, hurrying her gently. "Alex, it's OK."

"Well... his Senior Field Agent's report– Burley... says there was a fight at a bar. Burley gives details, names of people there, those involved, witnesses, what – or who – the fight was about. Private Lishman leaves, and is run down by a car shortly afterwards. Burley lists other people who left at about the same time. Notes the witnesses' estimates of the time elapsed before Private Carmody rushes in to say his friend's been hit by the car. Gibbs' report starts as if he's half-way in – called to the scene of the hit and run. It even starts with a lower case, as if he's changed his mind about the top sheet and discarded it. Burley attaches an information sheet on each witness or potential suspect. Except one, who's named in the report, but there's no sheet."

She looked anxiously at Tony. "It should be there. The info on Sam Neville. He was another PFC, the information has to have been available from the Corps like the others. And if Burley had wanted to leave him out of the investigation, he'd have just not put him in the report in the first place. The preamble says it was just a two man team at the time, so if not Burley, then the lead agent."

Tony nodded. "What else?" She wondered why he was so grave, and so calm.

"Burley also mentions the BOLO that was put out on PFC Neville's vehicle, with possibility of damaged indicator glass. There's no hard copy of that BOLO and there should be. Time, wording, issuing officer -"

"I was a cop too, remember. I know the drill," Tony agreed.

"Is it really enough to cause suspicion?" Alex asked. "It doesn't seem like much, it's just the feeling I got from the Director that there was more to this than just investigating the case, so I looked."

"It's not much," Tony said, "but Je – Director Shepard was a field agent herself, and she's sharp. I don't know what made her check this particular file and I'm going to find out, but she's noticed what we did, and she's wondering." He drew a deep breath. "Tell you one thing though, it wasn't Gibbs."

"Oh! But, why would Burley -"

"Not Burley either. I know Stan a little, straight as a die. But even if I didn't -" He leaned across and grabbed a bunch of papers held together by the time honoured method of punching a hole through each one, and threading them on a string. It was the collection of information sheets on witnesses and possible suspects that they'd been talking about. "Notice anything?"

Alex looked mystified, studying each sheet and seeing nothing wrong. "Don't look at the papers," Tony hinted. What else was there to look at? OK, the string. The punched holes where the string was threaded had been individually, carefully reinforced by gummed brown paper reinforcing rings; the sort of job that kept the evidence clerks – Tony's collective nemesis the Baggy Bunnies – happy for hours. Stuck to the string, about half-way through the alphabetically threaded sheaf, was a barely noticeable quarter of a circle, with nothing attached. Alex looked at her boss, wide eyed.

"It was there," Tony said softly. "It was torn off in a hurry. Neither Gibbs nor Burley would have had to do that, they could take their time looking at the file legitimately. They assembled it, after all. Did you find anything else with Private Neville's name on it?"

"No. Damn... I should have seen that -"

"Hey, I said you'd learn by doing, remember? It's the way _I _learned. Neither did I. Find anything else with the name, I mean. So somebody thinks Neville's a suspect, because _somebody's _gone to the trouble of snagging the file when they had a chance – not an easy thing to do – and taking out all references to him. Clumsy. Snatching the first page of Gibbs' report; the BOLO, the ID sheet. Someone who's been told what to look for, but doesn't understand the need to cross-reference. Or didn't have the time to look at Burley's report too before they had to stop for fear of being discovered. Sensible thing would have been to make the _file _disappear."

Tony flipped to the preamble again. "I need you to pack all this up again and not let it out of your sight. Then go down to the evidence lockers, and bring back the box for the case, whatever physical evidence they've got. Er... 5365. I'm going to talk to the Director. I'll fill you in when I get back. Kay?" He was already heading out the door as she nodded to his back...

He was standing, smiling winsomely at Cynthia Sumner, the Director's pretty, put-upon secretary, and taking a deep breath, when Jenny's voice floated through her half open door. "I told you it's open, Tony. It's all right, Cynthia, let him in!"

The two exchanged grins, and Tony hurried in.

Jenny rose from behind her desk with a smile that didn't entirely reach her eyes; they were narrow and her mouth was tight with anxiety. She gestured towards the coffee table and the easy chairs beside it, without a word, and they sat down. "Coffee?"

"Thanks, Jen, but no – Alex brought me one with breakfast, and another just now. Think she likes to keep me hydrated. Like sending her kid to school with a water bottle."

"Ah. How_ is _your new agent?"

"You coud ask her! No... she's fine, Jen. I made the right choice. She's smart, easy to get on with, and a quick learner." He frowned. "Mind you, I wouldn't have chosen her if I'd known she had a child, so it's a good job that wasn't in her file. But it _should _have been."

"Why not?"

"You have to make allowances... let her actually get home to _see_ her daughter, which is fine when you're just working cold cases, but it's going to be difficult if we take on anything else."

"Let me worry about that when the time comes. In the mean time, I'll put the information back in her file."

Tony's eyes widened for a moment, but then he got his face under control. Played by a woman _again_! On behalf of a woman... he smiled internally – he didn't actually mind what Jenny had done, it had given Alex a fighting chance. And didn't she just hint at more than cold cases in the end? She was looking at him quizzically, and he gave a wry shrug.

"This case, though..."

"You're the right person to investigate -" she began, anticipating a protest.

"Course I am. You know I won't do it at the risk of Gibbs' integrity."

"Unless it's already been compromised," she said warily. "I'd rather you looked at it from the standpoint of his innocence though."

"I already know he didn't do the tampering, Jen." She went to say something, but he said, "Not think, know. Director, if I thought for a moment he'd done it, I'd push the file straight back at you and tell you to take it to Internal Affairs."

This time, he was glad to see he'd surprised _her_. He explained what he and Alex had discovered, and was happy to see Jenny relax a little. Then she shook her head.

"It still gives us a cold case,"she said grimly, "With a new one of evidence tampering. I really don't like this."

"Neither do I – and I'd just as soon Gibbs doesn't get wind of it until I'm done. You and I are convinced he's in the clear because we know him – but we need the whole thing settled before he makes difficulties or it becomes general knowledge." He remembered the question he'd come up here to ask. "Jenny, why now? What made you look at this particular file in the first place?"

"Last year, Private Lishman's father came to see me on Dane's birthday. Apparently he'd been doing that ever since his son was killed. It was my first year as Director; I knew nothing about the case, and I had nothing to offer him. I promised him that I'd have a look personally, but then, unfortunately, it slipped my mind because of other things – you know, it was an eventful year. Dr. Lishman has made an appointment to see me next Tuesday – I believe he's done me the courtesy of giving me some warning, since I never got back to him. So I read the file, and knew I'd have to talk to you."

Tony thought for a moment, then said decisively, "OK, Jen – by next Tuesday you'll have something positive to tell him."

"I had a feeling you'd say that. Let me know if you need anything; I'll make resources available. What?"

Tony sighed. "I'd like to say another forensic scientist."

"I thought Abby would have stopped cutting you out by now, Tony. Do you want me to say anything?"

"No... I can't blame her being in Gibbs' camp – the only thing she seems to remember is that he told her I quit. I think she sees my leaving his team as tantamount to betrayal! She's forgiven him for doing what I never did..." He shook himself, that way that he had. "Hey, that's life. But how can I have her recheck the physical evidence? She'll see 'Gibbs' and freak out."

"I_ will_ say something. When you're ready give me the physical evidence, and I'll tell her that this is to be done blind. Any results to be given to you or your agent, and nobody else."

He squeezed her shoulder. "I fight my own battles, even with Abby. I'll do it myself, Jen – but I'll invoke your name over the secrecy. How's that?"

"Deal. Keep me posted."

NCISNCISNCIS

Alex gathered up all the papers, stacked them neatly and replaced them securely in their folder. She pushed the chairs back tidily, dropped the empty drink cups in the waste basket, checked the room was neat for the next users, and left. As she reached the T junction at the end of the corridor, Officer David came round the corner, not looking where she was going, and cannoned into her. In spite of her best efforts, and possibly because the Israeli woman's elbow accidentally lodged under her own, she dropped the file.

"I am so sorry," Ziva said contritely, and bent to retrieve the folder. "Let me pick it up for you." She stopped in surprise, as way before her hand could get to it, Agent Dominguez' foot was placed firmly on top of the file.

"It's OK, I'll get it myself," Alex said airily. Ziva gave her her most intimidating glare, and the probie smiled. "Officer David, I don't know why you're investigating – " she did air quotes – "Special Agent DiNozzo and myself, but you really don't need to. If there's something you need to know, just ask my Boss." She picked up the file, jammed it firmly under her arm, and walked off in the direction of the evidence garage.

Ziva bit her lip in frustration, furious at being bested by a rookie. She knew something was going on; why had the two of them left the bull-pen and gone elsewhere to do their work, after a visit from the Director? Why, just now, had Tony gone to see Jenny? It wasn't her business, any more than his personal relationship with his probie was, but not being on the same team as him, not knowing what he was doing and thinking was making her angry and confused. He had implied he wanted to be hers... she had spoken of friendship... as far as she was concerned he belonged to her, and to Gibbs for that matter, to the team, and here he was, doing and acting independently of that friendship. It was not right.

She found herself back in the squad-room, and Gibbs looked up. "Ya find out what ya wanted, David?"

"I... went to the rest room, Gibbs."

He knew she was lying, but she'd already made it clear where she stood on the subject of Tony. "So you won't be needing to go again for a while."

"No, Gibbs."

Tim stared unseeing at his screen. He missed Tony. He _missed _Tony! Gibbs hadn't, so far, officially made him his Senior Field Agent. He hadn't said he wasn't going to, he just didn't seem to be bothered. He expected him to do the SFA work, though, but didn't tell him what it was, or how to do it, only complained if it wasn't done. The team was shot to hell, and McGee admitted to himself that he hadn't the first idea what to do about it. Maybe if he'd supported DiNozzo instead of hitching his own bandwagon up behind the Boss's, things would have been different.

He'd come on in the four months Tony'd been in charge... had been encouraged to open his mouth when he had an idea, and fight back when Tony teased... the girls hadn't even noticed that he'd dropped the 'you're not Gibbs' litany weeks before they did. They'd felt like a team. Now, if something didn't happen quick – damn it, something had to.

Tony came skipping down the stairs from the mezzanine, and walked round to sit at his desk without even looking at the MCRT area. Alex wasn't back, and a moment later his phone buzzed. He got up again and headed towards the elevators. Tim buried his face in his work.

Near the back of the evidence lock-up were a couple of cubicles where agents could sit and look at the contents of boxes if they didn't want to sign them out. Alex rose from her chair in one of them as Tony came out of the elevator. "Over here, Boss." The Bunnies glared at them both, with a special glower for Alex, for being so good looking, and being lucky enough to work for Tony DiNozzo. Not that they liked him, oh, no...

"So... why did you want me to come down here?" He kept his voice low. Alex pointed at box 5365. She'd put gloves on, and there were powdery marks from them at two small points on the dusty lid, which he noticed was just sitting on top of the box. She lifted it by the same two corner points – it was empty.

Tony raised his eyebrows and nodded. Alex laid the lid aside, and again, touching only the corners, in the area where the lid had been, she turned the box round so he could see the list of contents written on the side.

Used Kleenex tissue

Fragment, indicator glass, yellow

Broken indicator bulb

Sample of oil

Oil contaminated cloth

According to what they'd read that morning, the tissue had been dropped on the parking lot; it bore traces of an over-the-counter congestion remedy, and might have had nothing to do with the case anyway. It had been found close to where a leaked patch of oil showed a vehicle had stood; the oil was standard summer grade engine lubricant. The fragments of glass and bulb had been taken from the victim's clothing, and the sample of cloth from his shirt bore oil with the same chemical signature. That was it – not much evidence for a case that had taken a young marine's life. Even less now – it was all gone.

"It would have been a while ago," Alex said quietly. "The dust's had a chance to settle again."

Tony nodded. "We'll sign it out as if nothing's wrong," he said just as softly. " Leave your gloves on, hold it by the same corners."

"Won't they wonder why?"

"They won't even see you go," he said cheerfully, and headed for the even deeper recesses of the lock-up. A few moments later there was an almighty crash, and the Bunnies went running to see what was going on. Alex signed the book and left.

In the elevator she restrained herself from asking what Tony had done; she'd heard the irate voices of the Baggy Bunnies pursuing him as he came dancing along with a wicked grin on his face. As they descended towards the lab, she asked if he wanted company, but he shook his head.. "Best not. Go on back up, and sit on that file... start pulling background on everyone you can. Themselves, families... tell you what, start with the possible suspect. PFO Neville. I'll be up soon as I can." He'd already snapped gloves on, and he took the box from her. "Go on, I'll be fine."

He didn't waste time psyching himself up, but marched purposefully into Casa Sciuto.

"Abby."

She turned, and did that silent counting to ten routine, and this time Tony had had enough. He had other things to worry about.

"Right, now you've decided whether to speak to me or not, Abs, let me tell you what needs to be done." He set the box on a table, and removed the lid by the corners, and the goth, her curiosity piqued, came over and looked inside.

"It's empty."

"And I now have to go up and tell the Director that all we have is an empty box to test."

"The evidence has gone missing?"

"That's right. So I need you to get everything you can off this... and I need you to do it blind."

"_What?"_

"I'll tell you when I can... but for now, the Director and I are agreed, nobody's to know anything. And you mustn't let Gibbs find out and put me to the back of the queue. Not this time."

Abby looked guilty for a moment, then went on the attack.

"Gibbs wouldn't do it if you hadn't made him angry!"

"How did I do that, Abs?"

"By leaving the team! You were happy! Gibbs came back, you were a team again... it was the way it should be. Why did you have to spoil it?"

Tony sighed. "Just saying something over and over again isn't going to make it so. I _wasn't _happy, and we _weren't _a team again." That got through; she took a step back from his intensity.

"But -"

"Gibbs came back and treated me like something that crawled up out of a drain. True or false? You all left me out of the celebration that night. True or false? I'd been the one who held you while you cried yourself to sleep night after night, but suddenly you're wiping my kiss off like I'm _dirty_, Abs, and telling me I don't get to kiss you, only Gibbs does. _Now_, tell me _again_ how happy I was."

She stared at him open mouthed for a moment, then said weakly, "But... but Tony, Gibbs was _back._"

He gave up, in a sudden welter of despair. He whirled on his heel, and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "Yes, well, Abby – _I _never left."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks to all the guests who weren't logged in so I couldn't thank you personally. Your support is very much appreciated anyway. **

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 3

The Fall sun was pleasant, and the grassy bank opposite the small restaurant was fragrant, as it had been mown that morning; sitting at the table on the terrace was just about the most relaxing way they could find to spend their lunch break after the morning they'd had. Tony had introduced his probie to the place on her second day working for him; he'd thought the Spanish/Mexican cuisine might please her, and Isabella, the proprietress reminded him very much of Silvia, the cook from his childhood at the big house on Long Island.

"She first taught me to speak Spanish," he told Alex. "She taught me the difference between Mexican and Spanish Spanish, if you see what I mean. Mind you, I still speak it like a Gringo... never can seem to sound anything like the real deal, but yep, I'm fluent."

Alex laughed. "Muy bueno!" she told him, and they continued the conversation in the same language, to the delight of Isabella, who clapped her hands in delight when she brought their food.

"So," the younger agent prodded gently, "it didn't go so well with Abby, then?"

Tony smiled, a pained, rueful effort. "Abby's world is black and white – no shades of grey. And for her, Gibbs can do no wrong." He told her what had transpired, struggling occasionally for the right adjective, and being helped out, and when Alex asked why all this was happening, he sighed – something he felt he'd been doing a lot of lately. "_Empecemos por el principio._..."

"Best do that," Alex agreed seriously, and listened with growing sadness and no little indignation as Tony explained what had brought them to this point.

"See... It's easy for me to talk, he's not here to defend himself. And I don't want to whine. It's – " he grimaced and mimicked Ducky – "an unbecoming trait. Look, he was a good boss. Always grumpy, you had to learn fast because he got mad if he had to tell you something twice, but he was fair, always supported his agents, never dissed them in front of anyone... I admired him. Hit it off with him..." Alex thought this wasn't the man she'd seen, not even the grumpy part. What little she'd observed had been way more than grouchy – more like cutting and mean-minded. She listened, and hardly tasted her food. When Tony reached the end of his narrative, she speared a harmless little prawn viciously.

"'Bout the only good thing I can think of about all that is that your accent's got better and better," she growled, switching back to English.

"No kidding?" Tony tried to raise the spirits that had sunk deeper and deeper as he'd told his tale. "We should speak it more often, then, cuz I was copying you. Well, that's good, isn't it? I should never think I can't learn anything from my probie!"

Alex gave him a half smile. "Well, you can practise on me and Jasmine any time. I'm sure Aunt Jackie would help too... Jackie's short for Jacinta. She's from Ensenadas, on the Baja, you know?" She didn't give him time to answer before changing tack. "Boss..." she went on, with an air of someone steeling herself, "Look, this is pretty obvious, but did anyone check Gibbs for residual brain injury after he came out of the coma? I mean, he checked himself out of hospital, came back to NCIS, yelled at that politician type, then left. What sort of a state was he in?"

Tony nodded his approval that she remembered details that clearly, but answered wryly,"Ducky said OK as far as he could tell. And yeah, he was passed fit before he went back into the field; the Director told me so. Passed the mandatory psych eval too, not that he can't blag it... thanks for trying, Alex, but hell, I wish I _could_ blame that."

Another prawn was skewered, and Alex finally began to do her food some justice. "OK, what about PTSD? He _must_ have suffered from that!"

"Yeah, I'm sure he did." Tony frowned sadly. "How could he not? As far as that goes, I understood his leaving... taking time to clear his head, grieve again... but not the cutting us off – well, me and McGee, and the Director. And _Ducky_, of all people! Abby sure knew where he was, and turns out Ziva did too. Asked Abby maybe. That hurt; I mean, Abby never told us she knew exactly where he'd hidden out. Guess he asked her not to and she took him at his word – but she cried herself to sleep all over me with missing him, and never told me what she knew." He frowned angrily at where his wandering, vocalised thoughts were taking him. "Am I just calling him a quitter because he left _me_? Am I jealous?"

"Perhaps, a little," Alex said honestly, "but you've got a very good reason to be. You said, 'as far as that goes.' There's more?"

"I told you, whining's unbecoming."

"So's smacking him in the mouth, and the satisfaction would only last for a minute or two. If moaning to me's your only option, take it!"

"You're a precious gem, Agent Dominguez. OK... he's grumpy and sour with McGee, paternal and secretive – shared, that is, with Ziva, although it looks like he's trying to stop her having anything to do with me – and for me he saves his very best moods. Don't know how that's post traumatic stress – wouldn't he be the same with everyone? Let's give him the benefit of every doubt here – and still all you can say is he just hates me, and I don't know why."

"I'd say it's not your problem any more, but it is. Because_ you_ don't hate_ him_."

Tony saw she'd finished,tossed some money on the table, rose and turned away slightly so Alex wouldn't see his face. "Never had a Dad worth speaking of... I was starting to think maybe... what the hell, not any more. Come on, _mi prueba, _let's get back to investigating the man himself." She fell into step beside him, and after a few moments, he said, "_Y gracias._"

They walked back thinking their own thoughts, and would have been surprised at how much they paralleled each other.

To work with him, she'd needed to know the background, and she was profoundly glad and relieved that he already trusted her enough to tell her the whole story, not the potted version. She wondered where the Gibbs had gone who'd brought her Boss back here as a young man, and told him 'you don't waste good'. It hadn't taken her long at all to realised that good was what he was, on many levels and in many ways. For all that she'd been abandoned with a baby to care for at the age of twenty, and done it, and her studies well, she still felt impossibly young and green in comparison with him; with what he'd done and experienced in his life – and that father comment was another glimpse he'd allowed her. They were off to a good start; she'd keep it that way. She wasn't ever going to let him down.

He was thinking that something must be going well, since everything that had happened so far had confirmed his first judgement. She was shrewd and a quick learner; she was also intuitive and compassionate, and wise for her age – and hey, if she wasn't a good person, then he didn't know what the definition of one was. He felt incredibly old and jaded alongside her, but he wasn't ever going to make her the same way. He'd always have her six, and never give her any reason to regret coming to work for him.

He was aware that all three of his old team glanced up, while trying to look as if they weren't, when the elevator chimed. The only one who met his eyes was McGee, who tried a tentative smile. Tony returned it as he went by; he didn't want to be churlish. Maybe Tim hadn't spoken to him because Gibbs was always there... if he'd been in Probie's position, he'd have been keeping his head down himself.

They'd barely sat down when Alex began to frown, and leaned in towards her screen, as if by peering closely at it she could intimidate it into changing what it said.

"Got something?" Tony asked levelly.

Alex bit her lip. "Come and look." She pointed to her left; if Tony came to that side and she turned her screen towards him, nobody passing could see it. When he was alongside her, she spoke very softly. "I left this running over lunch. Don't worry, my screen was switched off. Tony... truthfully, I did it to protect him..." He just looked at her encouragingly, although the expression on her face had his heart sinking. "They were all Marines." She kept her voice to a murmur, but the worry was still clear. "So... I thought I'd check for any association _he_ had with any of them, to avoid anyone saying conflict of interest, or favouritism. Look." She didn't highlight anything, but wiggled her cursor back and forth to indicate the relevant line. Oh boy...

The suspect Sam Neville's father, Lieutenant Colonel Hillier Neville, had been Gibbs' Commanding Officer.

They sat in silence for a while. Tony still didn't believe Gibbs was involved in any way, although Alex, after hearing her Boss's story, was quite disposed to believe the worst anyone told her about him. The one sure thing, however, was that any outsider seeing that alarming piece of information would have no problem accepting the former Marine's guilt.

Tony asked finally, "Has the program finished?"

"Yes, Boss, it'sdone."

"No other connections?" Alex shook her head.

"Right... I don't want to be seen trotting up the stairs to the Director again, and I don't want to write this down anywhere, including email. I'll go somewhere quiet and fill her in by phone, and be right back." He stood up. "Nice work, even if I don't like the result. OK... find out everything you can about Daddy Neville, relationship with son, past and present relationship, if any, with -" he flicked his eyes across towards the MCRT – "and I'll -"

"_You snake_!" The yell was heard all over the room.

Abby marched out of the elevator and across to the two agents, and without breaking stride, swung her arm in a wide arc. She slapped Tony across his face so hard he saw stars for a moment, and took a step back to keep his balance. The goth brought her hand back for another swing, only to find her wrist grabbed by a woman half a head shorter, but with a grip of steel. For a moment she debated resisting, but thought better of it. Alex let go slowly, but stayed where she was.

Tony blinked, and when the pretty lights stopped sparking in front of his eyes, he said calmly, "Abby, you were _told_ to do that test blind, not look up the file number." He didn't put his hand up to where a livid white mark was reddening along his jaw.

"I _knew _you were up to something! You're investigating one of Gibbs' cases. How could you -"

"Yes, Abby, and now the whole bull pen knows it."

Abby looked alarmed about that for all of a second, then brushed it aside. "How could you do that to him? How could you start poking into one of his cases?" She began to lunge forward again, and Alex simply stepped in her way. Tony almost smiled, and his eyes flicked to his probie's in gratitude, before he turned back to someone he'd always adored as an eccentric, free spirited little sister. His calm was utterly reasonable, and ominous.

"I lead the cold case team, Abby. I poke into any case I think I should, or that's given to me. It's my job."

"It's Gibbs' job if it's his case! Why didn't you want me to know whose it was? Are you too afraid to face him?"

"D'you remember who else told you to do it blind? Who else's instructions you flouted?" He lowered his voice. "It was a secret for a reason, Abs, and now everyone within earshot's wondering what's going on with one of Gibbs' cases." He pointed over her shoulder. "Including Gibbs. You don't know what you've done, Abby." He paused. "Did you find anything?" She hesitated; Tony groaned. "Did you _do_ any tests? Look, go and do them, we'll need something even more urgently now."

Abby's mouth opened again, but it was Gibbs who spoke. Striding round the end of the partition to Tony's side, he said flatly, "DiNozzo, if you've got anything new on a case of mine, ya give it to me."

It was the first time the Marine had spoken to him since he'd stormed out of the elevator, days ago. Tony looked at him bleakly. "I haven't. And if I had, I wouldn't."

"Whatcha mean, you _wouldn't_?" Gibbs stance was aggressive, and his voice had risen.

Tony stayed calm because he had to. They were attracting even more attention than Abby's antics had, putting paid to all his and Alex's attempts to be discreet. He tried damage limitation. "It's a _cold case_, Gibbs, like any other. Nothing special. The fact that you were team lead on it's immaterial. Cold case – so, my case."

Gibbs glared. "You're lying." Tony's chin reared up, and the older man actually backed off a little. "Ya not telling me somethin'. It's been opened for some reason. I want that case."

"You can't have it, Gibbs. Haven't you got enough live cases to deal with?"

To Tony's surprise, Tim said quietly, "That's true, Boss... it's a cold case team's job to take the long-term stuff to free up the field teams." He tried hard not to sound disparaging, as he knew that Tony and his trainee would go into the field any time they needed to, and anyway he didn't want to fuel Gibbs' disdain, but it didn't work.

"Ya think? My cases; I don't want any cold case desk-jockeys anywhere near them." He glared again at a wincing Tony. "Which one is it anyhows?"

The big Italian's patience was stretching _just_ a little, but he used what he had left. "Gibbs, if you don't know what case it is, why d'you want it? Other than to keep it away from me – and my fellow desk-jockey?"

"Damn it, DiNozzo, don't even think about playing with me! Which case is it?"

"Oh, I'm not playing, Gibbs." His voice was half the volume of his former team leader, the anger laced with pain that was audible to probably everyone but Gibbs. He looked around. "I'm trying, for _your _sake, not to attract an audience here. You want to talk about it, follow me. Alex, you do that search, huh?" He turned away and stalked off towards the conference rooms, not bothering to look to see if Gibbs followed him.

Tim went over to Abby, who'd been silently watching the storm she'd provoked. "Abs," he said, maybe more gently than he felt she deserved, "if Tony said he needs those tests, whatever they are, done quickly, he's _serious_ about needing them. Why don't you go and see what you can do?"

"But he shouldn't be looking at -"

"Yes, Abs, he should, and you know it."

"They might be -"

"Killing each other? Not Tony's style. And you didn't have to hit him either. Abby, the tests." He turned her in the direction of the elevator.

He watched the forensic scientist as she left, and a voice spoke softly behind him "Thank you for defending him. Your boss won't be happy." Alex didn't feel terribly kindly disposed towards McGee, although Tony hadn't been particularly scathing of him at lunch time; she could still read between the lines when 'lack of support' was mentioned. However, she could see now that it took all kinds of balls to stand up to Gibbs at all.

Tim turned towards her; in the turmoil of his feelings just then there was no room for residual embarrassment. He shrugged sadly. "Maybe I should have done it before... it's just hard to know what to do for the best. I've been trying to keep things together... on an even keel, but any idiot can see it's not happening. I thought it must be Tony's fault, but it's... not, you know?"

"Yes, I believe I do. It's a bad situation; we both have to support our leaders, and do the best we can."

On an impulse Tim said, "Maybe we can help... support each other. Compare notes. I'm not trying to find out what the case is, or hit on you, but first chance we get, let's have coffee together – talk things over."

Alex smiled. "Good idea. Let's do that."

On the other side of the partition, Ziva frowned. First Tony and this rookie, now Tim. Where would it leave Gibbs? Where would it leave her?

Tony walked into the conference room, flinging the door wide and leaving Gibbs to catch it or not if it swung back – it was up to him. He was angry, and hurt, as deeply as he could be; the hell, he'd been expecting it and it still burned like acid. He went over to the window and stood looking down on the river; he knew Gibbs was behind him, and waited for him to speak first.

"Ya gonna tell me now which case it was?"

Tony turned slowly. "Seven years ago. You and Stan Burley, two man team. Dane Lishman, twenty-two, Marine PFO. Hit and run outside a restaurant. Yeah, I see you remember."

"I remember all my cases, DiNozzo, especially the ones that don't get cleared." Gibbs' eyes were hard and hostile, and Tony wondered, for the thousandth time, where his Boss had gone.

"And ones where the suspect was the son of your former Commanding Officer."

"There was no suspect! There wasn't enough evidence. You saying I didn't do my job properly because I knew someone? You saying I let someone get away?"

"Wrong on the first bit. There _was _a suspect, but yeah, there wasn't enough evidence. Now there's none." He rattled off the facts emotionlessly; Dr. Lishman's visit, the stolen papers and the empty evidence box, and that suited Gibbs even less.

"So I stole evidence? I tampered? You trying to hang that on me?" Tony found himself grabbed by his shirt front and pushed up against the wall. "You trying to disgrace me, DiNozzo? Get me fired? Take over my team?"

"No, Jethro, you damn' fool," a voice came from the doorway. "_I _asked Tony to take on this case, because he's the one person in the entire agency I could trust to prove you _didn't_ do it, not happily hang you out to dry. Back off."

Tony smoothed down his shirt front, and turned away from Gibbs. "You talk to him, Jen," he said thickly as he headed for the door. "I've had it."

TBC

**AN: Empecemos por el principio – let's start at the beginning.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I thought I was going over the top... but the response to the last chapter was like nothing I've ever known. Thanks again to Tick, whom I couldn't message, to all those who weren't logged in, and to everyone else who's taken an interest.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 4

In the silence after Tim went back to his own desk, Alex sat for a while, taking slow, steadying breaths. Never a dull moment... she tried to lighten her thoughts the way she'd seen her Boss lightening things around him, but she couldn't manage it somehow. Her phone quacked once – a sound chosen by Jasmine – for a message, and she almost dropped it as she fumbled in her haste.

_D't worry – just need few min to self. May go talk 2 Ducky. Back soon. A thought – Abby shn't work our cases or Gs right now – poss bias accusations – ask Tim go fix it if G not back – otherwise, tell Jen._

She walked round into the MCRT area, stepping into dangerous territory for the first time since that first morning, trying to focus, and not be thinking of all the things that had happened since. "Tim – Tony thinks it wouldn't be a good idea for Abby to handle that evidence after all," she said apologetically; it had been Tony's request he'd been acting on; "she could be accused of bias if it were ever challenged."

Her opinion of him cranked up another notch as he understood right away. "I'll go see her," he said, and hurried away.

Ziva had been watching, and asked, "Do you know what is happening? Where is Gibbs?"

Alex leaned back on the edge of Tim's desk, feeling suddenly very tired and weak at the knees. "I don't know, Officer David," she said, a little of her anxiety leaking through into her voice. "Tony seemed to think he'd be coming back here." Ziva got to her feet. "If you're going to look for him, it might be easier to stop here until he comes back, or someone tells us something."

"Perhaps... but..."

Alex sighed. "If it's Tony you're going to look for -"

"Why would I be looking for Tony? What has he said?" The nettled tone of the Israeli's voice made Alex sure she'd guessed right.

"He hasn't said anything; he's not a gossip, and neither am I. But you _have _been trying to find things out about our cases... or something -"

"Have you told him that?"

"No. I said you should ask him yourself, remember. But not right now. He didn't say what had happened – too long for a text I guess – or where Gibbs is, but he did say that he needed a little time to himself, so I think it must have been bad." She looked the other woman in the eyes. "He doesn't want company right now."

Ziva shrugged. "That is ridiculous. Why would he want to hide himself away? I will talk to him and bring him back here, and find out -" She found Alex blocking her way out of the bull pen.

"You don't respect him."

"What do you mean? Of course -"

"You don't respect his wishes... you don't respect him. You don't care how he feels; you just want to know what's going on. So do I, but I can be patient. So must you."

"You are telling me what to do?"

Alex laughed. "Probie versus Mossad... you don't believe it, do you? But my Boss asked for space, and I'm going to see he gets it." Ziva took a step forwards. "Are you going to assault me like Sciuto did him? What is this place coming to?"

"What indeed?" Jenny Sheppard's light voice intervened. "I'm sure Special Agent DiNozzo will be back shortly. I suggested to Agent Gibbs that since he was clearly not feeling too well, he should go home and rest; I've removed the MCRT from the roster over the weekend. In the meantime, I'd like you to tell me what happened here leading up to Special Agent Dominguez' phone call."

Ziva frowned. "Phone call?"

Jenny decided to stop being formal, or this would take all day. "Alex called to alert me that Tony and Gibbs had exchanged words, and disappeared in the direction of the conference rooms, and that it might be of concern to me." She raised an eyebrow and waited for Ziva to speak.

"Ah. Tony and...Special Agent Dominguez had been working on a case that they did not wish anyone else to know about. Abby came up from her lab and was angry that Tony had been investigating it because it was an old case of Gibbs'. She said it should still be his case if new evidence had come to light, and Gibbs agreed. He demanded that Tony should hand it over. Tony said that Abby had gone against his orders to keep it secret, and would not give Gibbs the information; he said if he wanted it then he should follow him; he walked away towards the conference rooms and Gibbs did so."

"So, Abby disregarded my instructions?"

Ziva looked blank.

"Tony and I agreed that the evidence should be handled blind, as we didn't want everyone to know that there were... problems with the case. Apparently the secret is out." Jenny was not pleased.

"I did not know they were investigating under your instructions," Ziva said dubiously.

"And what difference does that make? Now, what did I just hear about an assault?"

Alex didn't want to be a tale teller, but the cameras would have told it anyway. "Abby yelled at Tony all over the bull pen, called him a snake and slapped his face," she told the Director, her tone flat. "He realised she'd ignored his – and your – instructions; Gibbs was listening, and that was when _he _realised we'd been looking over an old case of his. That's what upset him."

Jenny's expression asked if things could get any worse; Alex thought 'in for a penny'. "She's been putting our tests to the back of the queue, because Gibbs has asked her to. It makes our work a little slow. I'm sorry, but Tony won't tell you, and I thought you should know." She hunted for a crumb of good news. "He messaged me to say he thought she shouldn't look at the evidence now, for Gibbs' sake. If it were ever challenged she could be accused of bias. Tim went down to the lab to warn her not to start on it."

"Good," Jenny said thoughtfully. "Thank you." She didn't say what was going through her mind– that it was a good job the person under the most pressure here was the one thinking on his feet – things were fraught enough as it was.

Alex couldn't contain her anxiety. "Is... is Gibbs all right? Is _Tony_ all right?"

"I've spoken to Gibbs, but not to Tony." She sighed. "What I said to him has to remain between him and me unless he decides otherwise. He has to do some thinking. Now it seems I need to speak to Miss Sciuto..." The Director headed towards the elevator, with winds of change that nobody really wanted, but were reaching gale force anyway, blowing round her ears.

_She'd closed the door after Tony had hurried past her; Gibbs had gone straight on the attack._

"_**'Jen'**? Since when have you and DiNozzo got that cosy?"_

"_None of your business. And if you'd been more observant since you came back you wouldn't be asking a question like that." She almost laughed at the expression on his face. "Is **that** the slant you're putting on it? That I was bedding DiNozzo while you were away? Credit **him** with a bit more professionalism than that, Jethro, even if you won't credit me!"_

_She folded her arms, willing herself to let the insult slide off her, and leaned against the door. He took a step towards her and then hesitated._

"_Think again, Jethro... you're going to stand there and listen. You know if you lay a finger on me you'll be on a charge of assault – which you still will be if that's what Tony wants."_

"He wouldn't do that -" Gibbs began, and brought himself up short.

"_Yes, Jethro? He wouldn't do that because...?" Gibbs didn't answer. "He wouldn't do that to **you**, that's what you were going to say, yes? You really can't bear to say something good about him, can you?"_

"_Aahh.. he just wants the moral high ground."_

"_And that's why I asked him to look at the Lishman case, of course, so he could stand up there and sneer down on you. Why are you giving me stuff that you know yourself is rubbish? He's the only one I could be certain **wouldn't **do that." She paused. "Did you see he stuck his hands in his pockets when you had him against the wall? You might have hit him if I hadn't arrived, but he wouldn't have hit you! There's your moral high ground, Jethro! What's got into you? What's Tony done to provoke the way you've been acting towards him?"_

"_He **quit**!"_

"_You're still talking rubbish – listen to yourself! **You** quit – he held them all together until you decided you couldn't stay away, and you started on him before you even took your team back."_

"_You been listening to gossip, Jen?"_

"_About as much as you've been listening to me. D'you think the likes of David Marchetti and Dr. Mallard are only as credible as the mail room? I offered Tony Rota – he wouldn't leave DC because he wouldn't leave you and the team. Since it was clear you didn't want him, I gave him the cold case position, until something better came along. You damn well know he's **worth** something better."_

_Gibbs said nothing, and the Director pushed herself up off the door again. "You need to do some sorting out. This can't go on, and the only one who can put it right is you. You look tired; I know you were cleared for active duty, but I don't think you're over your injuries yet. Go home; I'll take your team off call for the weekend. Do a lot of sleeping, and some thinking." She opened the door and stood aside for him to go ahead of her, which he did._

_All he said was "Rota," and a grunt that could have meant anything, before he strode away._

"And here's something else that can be laid directly at your door, Jethro," Jenny thought as she waited for the elevator to open. "I should have seen it and done something sooner. Abby takes her cue on how to act from you, and if you can get away with something she thinks it's fine for her too. Not any m-" she heard voices in the lab.

"- keep telling you, Tony's wrong! Of course I wouldn't be biased!"

"And if that evidence were to say Gibbs made a mistake, what would you do?"

"Gibbs wouldn't make a mistake!"

As the Director watched, Tim put himself between the scientist and her target, the evidence box on the table. "Abs, you can't have it. If you want to help Gibbs, you'll let this go."

"Of course I want to help Gibbs – I'm the only one who can prove him innocent!"

"Innocent of what, Abby?" Jenny stayed calm as she entered the lab; she felt as if she were talking to a ten year old. Tim's look of relief said it all.

"Well, whatever it is Tony's trying to prove!"

"Tony was looking for evidence to prove Gibbs didn't tamper with a file. He's already found it. What we were looking for next was some hint of who did, and," she hardened her tone, "as we always do in such cases, in order to protect one of our own from unjust accusations, we were trying to do it on a need to know basis." She watched while the scientist and the ten year old fought for control of Abby's face.

"But... but Tony didn't tell me that..."

"No, Abby, he asked you to do it blind, something we'd already discussed. And if you'd followed that instruction, the whole of NCIS would still be unaware that evidence has gone missing." She looked at Tim, and said softly, "I'll take it from here, Special Agent McGee. Thank you." Tim nodded unhappily, and left. "Why did you choose not to do as you were asked?"

"I knew Tony was up to something – Gibbs would -"

"_Abby!_ You didn't _know _Gibbs was involved until you – I presume – looked up the file number. If Special Agent DiNozzo was 'up to something', that was his business, not yours. You thought you knew better."

"But -"

"There are no buts, Abby! Now I find you attempting to disobey the instruction _not_ to test the box, and in between you made an unprovoked attack on the agent who gave the instructions, shouted it out all over the squadroom, caused ill feeling between two senior agents, and there's no way of knowing yet just how much damage you've done."

"I was only trying to help!"

"If your method of trying to help is to fly off the handle and strike people, decide which requests you'll comply with, which instructions you'll follow, and pick and choose which evidence you'll process, then you're not doing your job properly. Everything revolves around Gibbs, and what he does, you assume you can do."

Jenny waited, but Abby said nothing. "It happens that yesterday I was looking through the file of a young forensic scientist, Robbie Dooley, who's due for promotion -" she couldn't help feeling satisfaction at the alarm that flared in Abby's eyes – finally, _that_ had got through – "to San Diego. I'd like him to get some serious hands on experience first. I was wondering how to go about that. I also noticed that for the past six years you've not taken your place on the rota for FCFC at Norfolk."

Foundation Course in Forensic Chemistry was nobody's favourite; it involved living down at the naval base for twelve weeks, teaching basic chemistry to doctors, nurses, FLETC trainees, and anyone else who may find themselves having to think forensically during a tour of duty or agency field operations. It was boring, but necessary, and Abby had always managed to avoid it.

"Robbie was going to do it, before taking up his post in California, but I think he can be relieved of that, and come here for the twelve weeks instead, by which time this case -" she indicated the empty box - "will be history. You'll take his place teaching the FCFC course, beginning next Tuesday, and resume your work here when that's over, providing we can agree on what that involves. I _will _tell you that it doesn't involve being a law unto yourself, or making unprovoked attacks on colleagues. You have the weekend to get ready; I'll make sure you get all the relevant information, including the dress code."

"Dress code?" the scientist squeaked.

"It's a _naval base_, Abby. There are certain requirements, even for civilian personnel. And I do believe following instructions is also one of them." The Director turned away to head towards the elevator, and resisted smiling until Abby could no longer see her face. Now, back to three unsettled agents in the bull pen, or find Tony?

He told the guards he was going for coffee, in case anyone asked, but crossed the road and the open space between HQ and the river, and sat on the grass in the shadow of the huge gun. It was a good secluded spot, not even visible from the highest window in the building, and he wanted to remain unobserved. When he'd really wanted to see her last night, she'd not come; but now he knew that if Ziva knew where he was, she wouldn't take the slightest notice of his wish to be left alone; sad fact of life.

He was surprised to find, once he sat still, that his heart was thumping, and he was shaking slightly. The actual physical sensation of an open palm across his face, and a fist bunched in his shirt had long since faded, but a cold, white, remembering fire still burned along his jaw and in the centre of his chest. He hadn't a clue what to do... he knew he had to decide P.D.Q., it wasn't fair to leave Alex to deal with the flak alone, but he had to get a grip on himself.

His own personal misery at the sudden, swift deterioration of an already bad situation had to be set aside; he had to get under control and do his job. _'Give yourself a break, Tony,' _Kate's voice was less abrasive than usual. _'You can treat yourself to five minutes.'_

Can I, Kate? What do I do? Would _you _have believed that from Abby? Gibbs... no surprise there... well, OK, a bit.

He wasn't going to give way to tears or panic, he wasn't the sort, but he was as close as he'd been since... hell, being on the roof with you, Kate. He stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't have to look at the trembling.

_'OK, OK... forget the five minutes. Go and see Ducky. Why didn't you do that in the first place?'_

Ah Kate... what would I do without you?

Ducky looked up as the doors swished, and got up from his desk straight away. "Anthony, dear boy, I've been expecting you. Come and sit down, at once."

"Hey, Ducky, do I look that bad?"

"No at all, my boy – er... yes, I'm afraid you do. Here, do sit ..." He steered Tony in the direction of the chair he'd just risen from, and nudged him down into it. "I've been remiss; I should have encouraged you to come down before this... Mr Palmer!" Jimmy had emerged from the office, and came over, his own version of Mallardesque concern on his face. "Tony..."

"Hi, Jimmy..." he couldn't think of anything witty to say.

"The medicinal fluid from the third drawer, if you please, James, just one glass... I don't think we'll be partaking."

"You just might, Ducky. You just might need three glasses."

"I rather think we need to keep our wits clear in order to help if we can, Anthony. Dear me, I really shouldn't have let things come to this."

"Not your fault, Ducky... w-wait a minute... you _know_?"

"Indeed. Young Timothy just paid us a brief visit; he doesn't look much better off than you. He told us what had happened," Ducky went on in a tone of deep regret. "He was very shocked and sad, as were we... but he wasn't concerned about himself. He said he was sure you'd be here soon, to tell you the Director has things in hand upstairs, and to - I quote – take care of you."

TBC

**AN: I'm not sure of Ducky's voice and this last scene in general... rats, I can usually write him, or I think I can!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Once again, thanks for all the amazing interest! **

**NCISFan, I take your point about Ducky and alcohol... I thought it was canon that he DOES keep 'medicinal' scotch in autopsy, but maybe someone will let me know. Or we can just say that it's how any self-respecting Scottish doctor would treat a friend for shock? Thanks anyway!**

**To earthdragon, and a few others who commented along the same lines, I agree, I thought Jenny was a perfectly OK Director until the actress said she wasn't renewing her contract, after which her character went galloping downhill.**

**Thanks too to the guest who said Gibbs was like a two-year-old needing a nap. Lovely phrase... how I WISH I'd thought of that!**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 5

"Maybe I should have done things different..."

"Anthony, we've already had that particular conversation – three days after Gibbs returned. And I told you then that in my opinion you didn't have a choice." He placed the glass that Jimmy passed him in the younger man's hand, and curled his fingers round it with a comforting pat.

"Tony," Jimmy added in earnestly, "If it'd been possible to go on working for Gibbs, would you have taken the promotion?"

"No," the Italian protested. "He needed – ah. I get it."

"Do you, Anthony? Do you really? He needed you in the aftermath of his injuries, and Mr. Palmer is right. You would have stayed. He drove you away, not the other way round, so let's have no more second guessing from you. We have to look for a way forwards now -" he patted Tony's shoulder this time – "no matter how bad you're feeling, and even if it seems impossible."

Tony almost smiled at how closely Ducky's words mirrored his thoughts from just a few minutes ago. "I shouldn't just be thinking of myself here... I'm not the only one feeling bad, am I, Ducky? Your friendship's been knocked for six too."

The old doctor pushed a file out of the way and sat on the edge of his desk; Tony had never seen him doing something so informal before. He shook his head sadly. "Indeed it has, Anthony. Did you learn that old cricketing expression from me?" Tony gave a slight smile that said 'could be...' "And like you, I don't see any easy way of mending the situation."

The agent nodded his sympathy, and asked tentatively, "Ducky, is Gibbs ill? D'you think maybe he's not over his injuries yet?"

"Ah, a difficult one there, for all that I've already thought about it. He was cleared for duty by the Agency's official physician, not by me – and I have no idea what transpired then. Did he examine Gibbs?"

"Would you dare if you were him?"

"Exactly. Did he merely look at the information from Bethesda? And before you ask, Anthony, I've looked at that and while it doesn't say 'yes, this man's perfectly fit', it doesn't say he's not, either."

"Mmm... I said to Alex that he could certainly bluff his way through the mandatory psych eval... did he simply come back too soon?"

"I don't know. He may have thought that four months doing nothing down in Mexico was enough, but returning to duty may have added a stress that wasn't there before. I really don't know, and I have no way of finding out." The ME sighed, and just for once, Tony caught a glimpse of the eternally young Ducky's true span of years and the weight they carried. "Had I realised... that things were going to get this bad... perhaps I'd have tried harder to conceal my anger... allowed him closer on his return..."

"Ducky, this _isn't _your fault, don't get caught up in guilt – apparently that's _my_ thing. I've spent hours wondering what I did wrong, and I can't think of anything – so... maybe I didn't! And you _certainly_ didn't. Point is, what do we do now?"

"Right now, nothing. Timothy informed me that the Director has sent Gibbs home for the weekend, beyond that you'll have to talk to her."

Jimmy put in, "We'd appreciate being kept informed down here at the end of the information chain too, Tony!"

Tony said contritely, "Yeah, sorry, Jimmy It's easy to forget. Damn, I need to talk to Gibbs... I've got to try to sort things out..."

"Anthony, to resort to your vernacular, '_ain't gonna happen_'." Tony actually smiled. "I think Jenny was wise to put some space between you; not that I think a solution is likely to miraculously appear, but you both need to sleep on this." Ducky paused sadly. "As to Abigail, I don't know if she's been sent home, Timothy couldn't say. She's volatile, but she may be ready to make peace, if you are. I can't advise anything but to proceed with caution."

Tony nodded. He didn't know how he felt about that; for everyone's sake, he needed to, as Ducky had said, 'make peace' with Abby, but she hadn't wanted him since Gibbs' return, and now it was _Gibbs_ her actions had possibly endangered. Before he could put his thoughts into words, his phone buzzed. He looked apologetically at Ducky and read the message.

_Say no if like. Din tnite Jaz says. Come take mind off things . Will wk Sat if u need me Jck says ok. Come?_

He thought of what Ducky had just said about space, didn't hesitate, and sent back _tell Princess J. yeah tnks. _"Alex," he explained. "My probie wants to make sure I get dinner. She's looking out for me." He could have wept, or yelled 'yeah!' inside, he really didn't know which, when the good doctor gave him an understanding smile and _didn't_ lecture him about his relationship with a subordinate. He thought a moment longer.

"I wonder if the rest of the team have gone home too? I wouldn't mind McGee's input on Abby, and I could ask him without getting him into trouble with Gibbs not around. Hey, he and Ziva are probably as whacked as the rest of us – I'll get up there and find it deserted but for poor Alex hanging around waiting for me... thanks, Ducky... Jimmy..."

Ducky just nodded and made shooing motions, and Tony squared his shoulders and left.

When he got back to the bull pen he was surprised to find both members of his old team waiting with Jenny and Alex.

"Tony," Jenny said, "Everyone was a bit anxious, and in the dark. I've taken MCRT off call for the weekend, and I've waited to see how much information, if any, you wanted to give regarding the case._ And_ I've said nothing of what I observed between you and Gibbs, or about Abby. I thought we should all know as much as possible, but I'm aware that might not be feasible."

Tony pursed his lips and thought for a moment, then nodded. "OK..." he looked at Tim, "Thanks for talking to Ducky – and was it you who alerted Je – Director Sheppard?"

"No," Tim shook his head. "But I would have done if Alex hadn't."

Tony nodded again and looked between him and Ziva. "You're both on his team," he said seriously. "I need your word, in front of the Director, that none of this goes further than the four of us, because on Monday, I'm going to have to interview Gibbs about his recollections and actions at the time. That's to protect him, I know he didn't do anything wrong – but hell, he's not going to like it, and neither am I. Evidence has gone missing..."

A few minutes, and they all knew as much as each other. "Abby's closed her lab down," Tim said, "she's taken what she needs and gone home to study the teaching scheme. The box is locked in the lab safe, and the last name on the chain of custody is mine."

"How is she?" Tony asked in a subdued voice.

"Quiet. I wish I could tell you what she's thinking, Tony, but I don't know myself."

"Well," he answered bracingly, "it's been a doozy of a day, but however bad we all feel, the thing that matters now, for me, is solving this case and proving Gibbs did nothing wrong. We don't know who took the evidence or why... was it to protect somebody else -"

"Or to discredit Gibbs," Tim finished. "We won't discuss it between ourselves, let alone with anyone else." He turned to leave, and stopped. "If you need any -"

"You can't be involved, Tim, but thanks."

"Any problems with my helping Abby if she needs it? No discussing, I know..."

Tony managed a grin. "I know you won't, you just said so! None at all. I'm glad she won't be alone if she needs company." Tony's former team-mate nodded regretfully and left.

Jenny said quietly, "I have a feeling you'll think about visiting Gibbs... I'm not sure it's a good idea, but nobody can say collusion because you've been alone with Gibbs enough times over the years to arrange any sort of cover story about anything! Just proceed with caution. And Tony, _not tonight._ Call me any time if you need to." She went away towards the stairs up to her office. Clearly, the day wasn't over for her.

Tony turned to Ziva. "You should go too, Zi... take advantage of the free weekend, rest, do something you like, don't hang around here. There's nothing you can do for Gibbs either, except be there if he wants to talk."

"Perhaps you and I could watch that movie tonight? The one I couldn't make last night?"

He couldn't have charted the number or variety of emotions that hurtled across his mind; part of his mind was screaming yes... I need you, Zi... the rest of it was screaming no even louder. He'd told her how he felt; she still held her cards close to her chest, and right now he needed to be able to trust those around him. Her motives... he didn't think she'd do or wish him harm, but he couldn't trust her motives...

"Ah, I'll have to take a raincheck on that, Ziva. I've promised a little princess I'd attend her ball tonight."

He was brilliant at dissembling; Ziva wasn't. He caught anger in her expression, and the flicked glance at Alex, before she composed her features into sad disappointment. "Oh, of course. It was short notice... a raincheck then. Goodnight Tony, goodnight Special Agent Dominguez." She picked up her bag and headed for the elevator, straight backed.

After a long moment, Alex said, "Jasmine would have understood."

"I wouldn't disappoint a princess... " he shook his head. "Ziva's feeling insecure, can't say I blame her, but she needs to talk to Jenny. There's nothing I can say to comfort or reassure her about her place here, or in America. Wish I could... but that's what she wants to hear from me, and I can't say it."

As they talked, they gathered their things and left the squadroom, waiting for the elevator to return from taking Ziva down to the garage. "Are you in love with her?" Alex asked softly when the doors had closed and the elevator was descending.

"I thought so... I don't know. I have feelings... they're in a mess and all over the place right now. She doesn't care for me enough to come out and say what she feels... Gibbs has been trying to stop us from even talking to each other, and she's stood up to him the few times I've been there to see it, which is good, but -"

He ground to a halt, because although he wouldn't be less than honest with his partner, he didn't really want to say the things he was thinking about Ziva, behind her back. Alex said, "You don't know whether she's doing it for you, or because she refuses to be dictated to by him. You don't trust her motives."

He was staggered to hear his own thoughts echoed back at him, and thought, yet again, that he'd found himself one smart probie. "I could be wrong," he said wryly.

"Aunt Jackie," Alex said, in what seemed a complete change of subject, "she wanted to work in the USA. She's a tailoress. She finally got her work permit, but she had to keep on renewing it, and it wasn't always easy. Bribery... people demanding kickbacks... she didn't deserve it... then she met Uncle Eneas, my Dad's brother. They got married, but it was still a fight for her to stay... she had no real peace of mind until she naturalized. You've said a little of what Ziva's work was with Mossad... I can understand how she feels, if she likes her work here, and wants to stay."

"You're a good'n, Alex." By now they'd reached their cars. "You lead, I'll follow you home."

NCISNCISNCIS

In his basement, Gibbs cut and shaped dowelling pegs for holding timbers together. He'd allowed himself a second two fingers of the cheap stuff, but his headache persisted. So did the nagging, accusing thoughts that he couldn't switch off. He was indulging all his worst impulses, all the time, and he knew it. The admonition almost had Shannon's voice.

_'Yeah, I know it, Shan... but I lost you. And Kelly... what d'you expect me to do?'_

He rubbed fingers across his temple, irritated that no answer came back; the silence was like an admonishment. _'Ah, it's easy, it's a comfort and I don't have any other... I don't care what anyone else thinks, and I'm not going to stop.' _To underline that, he poured another shot of bourbon, his other indulgence, drained it in one burning gulp, and picked up the dowel rod again. He looked down in astonishment – he'd made about fifty more than he needed already. He threw the rod down, stooped under his boat, grabbed the old pillow and blanket, and lay down to see if sleep would come.

NCISNCISNCIS

Jacinta Dominguez, in a flowing royal blue tunic and black palazzo pants, with her still dark, luxuriant hair loose round her shoulders, was a different picture altogether than the large, dressing-gowned frump who'd alarmed, and been alarmed by Tony. She made him think more of a stately Spanish galleon in full sail, although he surely wasn't going to say so. Without the cucumber face mask she was a handsome woman in her mid-fifties, with fine dark eyes and an earthy laugh.

"Well," she said, at one point in the evening, as she tucked into another slice of pavlova, "After my Eneas died, I never looked at another man... I comfort ate instead." She looked at Tony soulfully, like a tragic diva. "I need a lot of comforting!" She laughed, and the whole of her shook happily. Tony was entranced.

Jasmine had started to help her aunt as soon as they knew Tony was coming to dinner, and had insisted on the pavlova because she loved strawberries and she was convinced that he would too. She'd run to the front door and wrapped herself around his knees with a squeal as soon as he'd come through it, and the evening had gone famously well ever since. Lamb chops, lots of fresh vegetables, and seasoned potato wedges, then the creation itself... they were all wonderfully full, and high on good conversation, in which Jaz determinedly held her own. And if Alex saw Tony's face darkening occasionally before he got himself together again quickly, she didn't mention it.

He'd stopped at a convenience store and bought flowers for Jackie to apologise for giving her a fright, (shades of blue and purple that matched her top – happy coincidence,) and a pair of pink slippers with piglets on for Jasmine because he thought they were cute, and now the little girl wouldn't take them off.

"Don't do it again," Alex told him sternly. "She'll think every time you come to see her you'll bring a present." She laughed. "By the looks of it, and if she has anything to do with it, you'll be coming back." Jasmine, in blue chambray crops, a pink check top and the slippers, was dancing round the living room, every so often coming back to Tony and hugging his arm. "Jaz, come back to the table, it's not polite to leave it." Jasmine came back and sat down, but two minutes later she was off again.

"I love my piglits, I love my piglits," she sang happily, hopping and pirouetting around on one leg, and holding the other as high in the air as a four year old could. She lost her balance and tottered and Tony put out an arm to steady her. As he did so, his elbow caught the end of the piano that stood behind the dining table, and it let out an indignant growl that made Jasmine laugh. It was a lovely old Bell, dark oak, made in Canada in the nineteen-thirties, and Tony looked at it appreciatively.

"Who plays?"

Alex looked embarrassed. "None of us. Seems a shame, doesn't it? "

"It was my Eneas's," Jackie explained. "He was a beautiful pianist... I would never sell it, but it was wasted on me! Then my girls came to live with me. So we hope Jasmine will play one day."

Hearing her name, the little dancer came over, and reached up a shy hand to play a few keys in the centre. "Tony play the piano?"

"Well, yeah, I can, Li'l Princess – tell you what, come up here." He lifted her and sat her on the piano stool, and turned his dining chair round to sit beside her. She looked at him solemnly. "OK, see these two black ones in the middle here? See this white one in between? It's called D."

"Dee," Jasmine said earnestly.

"That's right. You want to play that with your left hand? This one? That's good... you want to try something?" She nodded. "Can you count to three?"

"Course!"

"OK, count three in between, right? Good... now put your other hand on the one after that."

"Four," Jasmine said as if she were teaching him. Alex and Jackie had both gone quiet.

"That's right, that's an A. So... play the D twice, OK? Steady, dee dee, wow that's good. Now, do the dee dee then an a...a... then this one next door twice, that's it... then back to the a... hey, that was good. Can you do that again if I just point?"

The little girl nodded, sticking the tip of her tongue out between her lips in concentration. Tony pointed. Dee...dee...a...a...b...b...a...

Her eyes flew wide open."Ohhh," she squeaked in amazement. "I play t'inkle, t'inkle little star!" She gazed at Tony, speechless – she'd just fallen in love.

TBC

**AN: A bit of fluff to relieve the angst – hope you don't mind.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks once again for the huge interest in the story; special thanks to the guests who weren't logged in.**

**To the guest who said that I'd said it was Tiva but they weren't sure, I don't know whether you were hoping for a Tiva story, but I said in my first AN that it wouldn't be; I'm simply not a fan of it. G. also thought it shouldn't go that way although that was how he'd originally started. I hope that doesn't change your view of the story.**

**Not so much in the way of action – Mel's story took longer than I expected!**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 6

Saturday morning, seven am. Tony sat at his desk deep in thought. Well, MCRT had been given the weekend off, but no-one said anything about cold cases.

When Jasmine's almost limitless energy had given out, and her mother had carried her off to bed, he'd registered, and read with complete accuracy the look Jackie was giving him. "It's OK, _querida Senora,_ she's safe with me. In every way. I'll look after her, in the field and out of it."

"Oh, Tony... I am embarrassed to even worry... but those two – since I lost my Eneas, they're everything to me."

He'd nodded understandingly, and chuckled. "I'll look out for them. And you." Aunt Jackie had blushed like a young girl.

"Are you teasing my dear Auntie, Tony?"

"Kinda. I was just wondering if you'd heard anything more about that stone through the window?"

"Oh, yes, Tony." Jackie was anxious to reassure him. "It was the boy three houses away showing off his new fishing catapult. His father wasn't pleased! He paid to have my window repaired though."

Tony was relieved to hear it; he'd asked a few times but the local police hadn't got to the bottom of it, and then it had slipped his mind as other things encroached. They'd had another coffee, sitting companionably round the fire, and then he'd decided he must go before he got too comfortable. He'd thanked the ladies for a lovely evening, and driven home hanging on to the relaxed feeling for as long as he could. He'd woken up as early as on a working day, realised at once that he wasn't going to go back to sleep or settle to anything at home, so he went for a run, showered, got in his car, and here he was, with a burrito and coffee at his elbow, back on the case.

On his screen were the meagre results of the search Alex had made yesterday. She was a little more computer-savvy than he was, but didn't have, any more than he did, McGee's instinct for where to look and where not to waste time, and she hadn't had that much time to waste anyway. He opened a blank document, parked the cursor up in the corner ready to hit minimise if anyone came by, and made notes.

Motive for hit and run unknown. Too many possibles for a working theory.

Motive for theft – discredit Gibbs or protect a suspect. Only one obvious one to protect, and no reason for that except what had been _done _to supposedly protect him! He was still the one to follow though, although the witness statements said he hadn't been the only one to leave the restaurant at that time.

Suspect for evidence theft? The most obvious would be the Baggy Bunnies of the time, and he found, after a few false starts, the names of all of them from the time of the original murder.

_Alex says dust had settled on the box again, _he typed,_ but that only says it was a while ago, so we've got from the date of the hit and run, to A WHILE AGO? _Three question marks. Great.

The most observant and sensible witness seemed to be Melanie Moore, the only one of the five young men and four young women in the party who wasn't a marine. She'd been a student at the time; he traced her and found she was now Melanie Moore Berthold, living in Fairland, Maryland, on one of that cluster of roads that always made him smile with their musical names. He was just reaching for his desk phone when he remembered the hour, and decided he ought to wait.

He closed the program, and then the computer down rather than minimise, not that he was paranoid or anything, and headed for the evidence room. He'd had a completely logical, but totally useless idea for whiling away the time until he could call Mrs. Berthold.

There were no Bunnies on duty, so he had free range of the place. Trying to remember how thick the layer of dust was on the box of case #5365, which was locked in Abby's safe, he went to the gap where it usually sat. He supposed he could have gone to the safe first and looked; he couldn't remember the combination but he thought he knew where Abby kept a note of it; it'd be too unkind to call McGee and ask him. He'd dialled back on the teasing when he took over the team, and hadn't really found the energy to go back to it so far... Anyway, he didn't actually want to set foot in the lab right now; he could tell himself over and over that he _hadn't_ got Abby sent to Norfolk, but it still felt like he had.

The box had come from the third rank up from the floor, so he found himself down on his knees, carefully easing out the boxes on either side. He took photos with his phone; even under another shelf the boxes had managed to collect an impressive furry layer on top; almost as much as the ones on the very top rank. _Gibbs... if you could see me resorting to studying dust on your account, you might be nicer to me... Ha._

Now, if Abby – no, if their temporary forensics dude who was starting on Monday could find a way of measuring the thickness of those layers, and the one on 5365, then maybe find the same thickness on other boxes, the date of their reception might give a rough idea of the time when... _aah, this is getting ridiculous. _

He pushed the boxes back with far less care than he'd pulled them out with, then suddenly sat back on his haunches, laughed rather wildly, and hit himself round the back of the head. Start with the _Bunnies_, not the _boxes_.

He didn't know if there was a password into the Bunputer, so he went for the old registers, gathering dust in a small store room. Sneezing mightily, he found the relevant year... the relevant date... the same Bunny had checked in all the evidence that week as far as he could see. 5365 hadn't ever been signed out again, not officially, until Alex had taken it yesterday; they'd already checked that. _And_, he reminded himself, just because a li'l wabbit signed it in, didn't mean she touched it again... but in the absence of anything else, he'd start with her. One of the names he'd already looked up. Shirlee Oakes...

As he sat down and powered up again, Alex called, repeating her offer to come in if he needed her; he thanked her again for a great evening, and told her no. "If things change, I'll call. I promise. I'm going up to Maryland to talk to one of the witnesses if I can raise her. I'll keep you posted. Give Jaz a hug from me."

He set up a search for Shirlee, and sat rehearsing in his head what he'd say to Gibbs on Monday, until nine o'clock, which he hoped was a respectable enough time not to antagonise someone who didn't keep agency hours.

Mrs. Berthold had a pleasant, light speaking voice, and yes, if he wanted to come over she'd be happy to tell him what she remembered. There was a pause while she spoke to a child, and then there was a man's voice in the distance, and she came back to Tony with a laugh. "Jody says he'll take Jonny and Lew to the park to feed the ducks so we can get a bit of peace – unless the baby cries, of course." Tony began to thank them both, but she cut him off gently with another laugh. "Jody's a police officer... he knows how difficult it can be..."

Tony disconnected thanking heaven that there were normal, helpful people in the world.

The journey up to Fairland was pleasant, the traffic light, and Tony tried to keep his thoughts on what he had to do. He failed miserably, his mind swinging between visions of Abby stomping round her apartment packing, and Gibbs hitting the bourbon or tossing and turning under his boat. Fortunately, as he drew to a stop outside the house his satnav indicated, he spotted a big man squatting in front of the steps, struggling to get rubber boots onto a squirming lad about the same age as Jaz. His twin brother ran up and down the path, and straight into Tony's legs as he walked up. That was enough to take his mind off anything else. Ow.

"Jonny! Pick on someone your own size!" The solidly built black man rose to his feet. "Sorry about that. Special Agent DiNozzo?" He stuck out a large, strong hand. Tony shook it, and showed his badge with the other. Seizing one twin's hand in each of his own, their dad nudged the front door open with an elbow. "Mel? You decent? Agent DiNozzo's here!"

"Send him in hon, I'm fine!"

Jody Berthold stood aside for Tony to enter, then said, "I'll be back with the Monsters in a while." He and the said monsters headed off down the drive.

Melanie came out of the living room, an intelligent, pretty woman with a very young baby on her shoulder. "Hi, Special Agent DiNozzo..."

"Tony."

"I'm Mel... this is Carter. He's just been fed, shouldn't make too much noise." The baby burped with a squeak, and his eyes drooped. "Come through to the kitchen, I'll make coffee." It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Tony had been shown comfortable family life, and he refused to listen to his thoughts on the subject.

The baby was laid in his bassinette, mugs of coffee were on the table, and Mel said, "So, Tony, what would you like to know?"

"Well, I've read your witness statement, and it seemed to me that you're pretty observant. I'd like you to tell me what happened in your own words, and if I think of anything I'll ask you. You never know, you may recall other things if I lead you a bit."

Mel nodded thoughtfully. "Hmmm... well, Dane and I had known each other for years, our dads being doctors in the same practice... I didn't know any of the others. I got a call from him to say they were at their favourite restaurant, and there weren't enough girls. They were just wanting a good time before being posted overseas, and I knew he was telling the truth when he said that was all it was, they weren't out to pull birds – otherwise I wouldn't have gone." She grinned. "I'm a nice girl."

Tony understood, and grinned back. "Go on."

"I got a taxi, my brother had the car that night... I got there and Dane introduced me to the others. I was the only one who wasn't a Marine. Four guys as well as Dane – Eddie, Lee, Sam and Asfar. They were all friends, but not all going to the same posting. Three girls, Heather, I got on really well with her, Laura and Sheena. We had a good evening; good food, good wine... you should ask Asfar, you know, because he wasn't drinking, he's a Muslim. I bet his wits were clearer than mine! We all danced, there were some Naval guys there and we danced with them as well -"

"Really?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, if you'd gone to make up the numbers because there weren't enough girls, didn't the guys you were with want to dance with you themselves?"

Mel's eyes widened. "You know, I never thought about that!" She looked rueful. "Most of our guys just wanted to dance with Sheena."

"Sheena? Private Venables?"

"Yes! Dane really liked her, I think – and she _was_ gorgeous looking... Me, Laura and Heather, we weren't bad, you know... but hey, if we'd waited to be asked to dance by the guys with us, we'd still be waiting now! Lee and Asfar didn't particularly want to dance, so we sat and talked to them or we danced with the Navy guys."

"Did that go on all night? How were the other three of them about sharing the lovely Sheena?"

Mel frowned, trying to recall. "Mmm," she said finally, "I'm not sure... I don't know if you're putting ideas into my head, if you see what I mean. There might have been a bit of ribbing, I saw some frowning and... animation I suppose, from all three of them, but I was dancing with a Navy man at the time so I wasn't really paying attention."

"Don't worry about the giving you ideas," Tony reassured her. "I said I'd lead you, and I'll always bear that in mind. So what happened then?"

"Nothing much, until Heather and I went to sit down; Laura had been sitting that dance out and talking to Lee and Asfar. We noticed Eddie was missing; Dane and Sheena were talking and walking over to the bar. Sam was standing near the door, looking round, with a sort of puzzled look on his face. Lee said 'Eddie's hacked off about something,' and... yes... at that moment Sam seemed to make up his mind about something, and he went out of the front door."

"So... he just looked puzzled? Not angry?"

"I don't think so. No."

Tony nodded. "You said in your statement that Private Lishman looked angry when he left a while later."

"Yes... Did I use the word 'stung'?"

"You did. Good memory."

"Well, it was like that. He looked as if someone had said something to upset him... more sad than angry, if you like. But I'm not sure who he'd been talking to. The next thing I know is, he goes out as well, and there's us three girls – Sheena was over in the other corner with the Navy guys - and Lee and Asfar looking at each other, and wondering what the hell... and Lee says 'looks like we're the outnumbered ones now'. We all laughed, and we just sat chatting and enjoying each other's company since there wasn't anything else to do, and I really can't tell you how long it was before Eddie comes rushing in to tell us Dane's been hit by a car, down the road."

"No, I know that was a point no-one could really agree on, although the time estimates only varied by ten minutes or so. No problem." He said gently, "It must have been a shock, and that plays havoc with your sense of time, and everything else. You lost a friend."

Mel sighed. "I did. And I had to watch what it did to his father in the days that followed. We waited to give our statements, then Asfar drove me home. I cried all night. I'm glad you've got a new interest in the case – have I helped at all?"

"I don't know yet... there must be some new pieces for the jigsaw in what you've told me, I just can't see it yet." He rose from the comfy kitchen chair. "A thought – and I can't tell you why I'm asking, not yet at least – did Sam Neville say anything about his father during the evening?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, he did! He said he hadn't told his father he was meeting his friends because he'd have been grilled about who they were, and what were they up to, like he was sixteen. I don't think they got on!"

Tony frowned. Store that one up for further investigation, it wasn't what he'd expected. "OK, Mel, thanks for seeing me. I'll let you know if anything comes of this, I promise.." Young Carter snuffled in his crib, and through the window the twins and their father could be seen in the distance, walking slowly back. "You've got a lovely family, Mrs. Berthold."

Surprised and pleased, Melanie could only smile as Tony waved and walked back to his car.

Pieces of the jigsaw... Tony called Alex and put his phone on hands-free as he kept her up to date. She said what he'd been thinking. "We need to know who spoke to Dane to upset him – my bet would be on Sheena... and we need to know where Sam and Eddie went. How do we find out the names of those Navy guys after seven years?"

"I'm on my way back to the Yard, going to find out where all the other Marines are now, and see if I can get any more background on Colonel Dad."

"You know we thought people might accuse Gibbs of cooking the evidence if Colonel Dad asked him to... doesn't make sense if he doesn't like his son very much, does it?"

"There's something going on, young Alex, and we're going to find out."

"We?"

"Right now, just me. You have any ideas, call me. While you and Jaz are having a weekend off."

"Tony..."

"Alex, I'd tell you if there was anything you could do... but you're not much more computer smart than me, so I might as well be stumbling along myself. Make the most of it, gal... there won't always be free weekends!"

Alex gave a disgruntled humph and disconnected.

Back at the yard, he realised just how prophetic his words had been. Shirlee Oakes was impossible to track back to more than a couple of years before she'd joined NCIS, and Tony couldn't figure out what he was doing wrong. He'd assembled all the official information there was on the Nevilles, _pere et fils_, but nothing he could think of gave him any insight into their relationship. He cross referenced Gibbs, but could find nothing at all since the time the Lieutenant Colonel had moved on to a different command. He added to his notes page 'motive for hit and run', 'poss the lovely Sheena', and after a few minutes of staring, added a question mark to that, then sat back with a dissatisfied grunt. Damn, he needed Mc – his phone buzzed – _Gee._

"Tony... isn't it time you stopped for lunch?"

"I can't stop, McNosh, how can you talk about lunch when -"

"Well, I think you ought to." Tim's voice held a strangely insistent tone. "Sarah dropped some fajitas in, they look good... there's enough for two."

"Alex called you."

"Nothing wrong with a couple of second in commands talking to each other. You coming over?"

Ten minutes later Tony was on Tim's doorstep, trying not to look famished.

On the table in McGee's tiny kitchen were two plates and a laptop. The younger agent pointed to the computer as he took the wraps out of the oven where they'd been keeping warm, and slipped them onto the plates. "Put your NCIS password in," he said cheerfully. Tony obediently did so. "There," Tim went on, "that's a direct link – no-one can tell it's not in the squadroom, and no-one can tell -" as he slid into the chair in front of the machine – that I'm not you."

"Isn't there something about keystrokes?" Tony said dubiously. "I mean, not that I'm not grateful..."

"Who's looking?" Tim shot him a wicked look. "So, tell me what you want. And eat your lunch."

Tony blinked – it was like sitting opposite a computer-literate mini-Gibbs.

**AN: I know Mel changed tenses when she was talking. People do, habitually – or at least scousers do. **

**I don't know if what Tim does with the computer is possible – I know less than Tony.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Apologies – hectic time at the museum (it's a _hobby,_ why do I let it take over my life?) meant I hadn't a moment left to write. Thirty-nine hours I've put in since Monday morning. **

**Thanks as always to everyone who wasn't logged in. Engedi6k, thanks for signing in and repeating; I've deleted the anonymous one because that'd be cheating on the numbers!**

**Deleted rant here about being British and proud of it.. **

**Sorry, guest who was confused over sudden influx of OCs – I just needed a bunch of young people out for a good time. I'll filter some of them out in the end, because they were only necessary for Mel's story.**

**One f word... sorry, nothing else seemed good enough.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 7

"So..." Tony said seriously, the wrap paused half-way to his mouth, "you're me, and in the squadroom? Nobody could tell the difference? You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Nobody can say collusion... you're not here, you're there, and I'm not ."

"Er... good," Tony said. "Collusion wouldn't help Gibbs' case, and helping me wouldn't endear you to him." He caught Tim's expression and frowned. "What?"

"Nothing..."

"Yes, there is. Something to do with Gibbs. Come on, McDubious, if you're worried about talking behind his back, we don't have much else of a choice these days."

Tim sighed; the truth was painful. "It was more than that. I'd been afraid you'd think I was spying for him. Sorry... I don't think that, OK?"

Tony didn't say 'don't apologise', he wasn't Gibbs. "I didn't think it. If you were, you'd have nothing against me to tell him anyway, cuz I'm not doing anything to hurt him. But I don't think you'd do that." Tim just looked at him, with a grateful expression that had a huge edge of weariness to it. "He's not actually made you his SFA yet, has he?"

"How did –"

"How did I know? The scuttle would've butted by now if he had."

"No... how did you know I was thinking that?"

"I've been in your position. Except that he wasn't in a never-ending bad mood then – well, he was, but not the same sort of bad mood... no, I mean, I was doing the work, but it was months before he came out and said it – I suppose it was some sort of test. Tim, he'll do it in the end, you just have to be patient. I know, not easy right now."

"No... You were a good leader, Tony." The words came out low pitched and rather quiet, and Tony almost spat crumbs of the wrap he'd just bitten into.

"Where -" he said with his mouth full. "Oh... that comment during the kidnap case..." He swallowed the food half chewed, because he realised that talking was more important just then. "Hey, you were a good Senior Field Agent, considering it'd been dumped on you _and_ you had Ziva to cope with as well as me, and you'd been demoted too. I think we were all of us a bit too caught up in our own feelings at the time to be able to think of anyone else's."

"But -"

"No but. Things are bad. We have to move on forwards, even if right now it feels as if we're going sideways." Tony put the wrap back on his plate and scuttled his fingers round it like a crab. " And back and forth and to and fro and up and down..." Now he was see-sawing his hands in the air and pulling faces, and his former partner began, reluctantly to smile.

"You drove me nuts half the time, but no-one can say you're not forgiving, Tony."

"What, only half the time? I'm slipping."

Tim sighed, but kept it smothered down inside himself. Trust Tony to only hear the uncomplimentary part of the remark – he was so bad at accepting praise he seemed to simply filter it out.

Tony was still hearing that word 'drove', and thinking _not drive_. The team they'd been.. it was all past tense now.

Tim's voice broke into his thoughts again. "Sideways... is that how you see your move? I'd have called it a promotion."

"Yeah, so'd I, but it's sideways from MCRT. I used to think I'd take over from Gibbs one day when he retired, you'd be my SFA, Gibbs'd be our mentor... didn't expect this."

"Nor me," Tim said, and Tony raised an eyebrow at his tone. "The not making me SFA... he hasn't said he won't, he just doesn't seem to be bothered. The team doesn't seem to matter. He never told us you'd left, for instance. We needed to know, but he didn't respect us enough to tell us. I feel snowed under with the amount of work, but he never tells me how to do the new stuff... the stuff I suspect you went right on doing yourself... the stuff the SFA does... just expects me to do it anyway. I... I'm beginning to see how things were for you... it never used to be this way... he never used to be like this. The explosion..."

"Changed him. It's OK to say it."

"Permanently? D'you think?" Tim made himself ask. "It's like it blew off all the good bits and just left the temper and the not giving a damn for what anyone else thinks. How long..." He tailed off again.

"How long will it go on? How long will you be able to stand it? How long before he's alienated everyone... or until he gets you and Ziva so messed up -"

"Someone gets killed," Tim finished heavily. "I don't know what to do, Tony."

Tony put his head on one side and grimaced. "The SFA stuff, that's easy – ask me. The rest of it, well, we're on damage limitation. One day at a time... let's get this Lishman thing settled, so he hasn't got IA on his back. That's one less thing to think of."

Tim nodded slowly. "We'd be better off if we had some forensic evidence."

Tony winced. "Or somebody to test it."

"I've phoned a few times; she wants me to agree with her and I won't, so we don't get anywhere." He looked ruefully at Tony. "Not your fault. I'll go round later; she must know we're here for her, but maybe she doesn't want to ask. So... where d'you want me to start with this damage limitation?"

Tony explained what he needed. "See... you know _where_ to look as well as _how_ – angles I don't know, alleys running off the information highway..."

"Dumpster-diving in the electronic trash-can," Tim agreed, feeling at least a little more light hearted. Tony chomped on his (cold by now) fajita, and re-read his notes on his conversation with Melanie Berthold.

They didn't know what had made Dane Lishman leave, and so many people had left around the same time as him... and his thoughts kept coming back to Mel's remark about Sam Neville's father – _he'd have been grilled... I don't think they got on. _Another guy with daddy issues; he _knew _it had some significance, he just had no idea what.

Other thoughts persisted; Abby in her apartment packing, and Gibbs in his basement... drinking?

"Have you spoken to Gibbs at all?" he asked suddenly.

"He's not answering his phone," Tim said promptly, and Tony was happy that he'd tried. "I don't know if Ziva has called him; we can't ask Abby. I'd go round myself, but I've never been encouraged to... Maybe the Director's keeping in touch."

Tony stood up abruptly. "I'll go see him," he said. "You OK for me to leave you with this, McFerret? On your day off? I mean, I know you offered..."

"That's right, Tony. I offered. Just be careful."

"Sure. You don't think he'll shoot me, do you?"

"Probably not. You'll keep me posted?"

"Yeah, I'll do that. You too."

NCISNCISNCIS

Abby wouldn't answer her phone; Ziva was out for a run and hadn't called Gibbs. Jenny hadn't either – "I won't order you not to, although I sent him home to separate the pair of you. Tread carefully, Tony, I suggested he should do some thinking, and I don't know where that's taking him."

Gibbs door was open, and he was in the basement, as his former SFA had expected. He looked up as the younger man came to the top of the stairs, but said nothing.

"Thought maybe you'd have locked your door, Gibbs," Tony said neutrally.

"Got nothing worth stealing, DiNozzo."

How to read that? Nothing had changed, or everything had changed? Maybe he was being accused of having taken everything Gibbs had; or had the looming crisis of the missing evidence done that? Self pity? Depression? _Gibbs? _It needed more time to think about than he had. In the end, he said seriously, "You need to know... I'm working _for_ you here, not against you. I always was. Always have done."

Gibbs didn't react at all to the reminder of how things used to be between them. "Ya think I didn't do it."

"I _know_ you didn't do it, although I'm not going to discuss it with you. Can't."

"So how ya gonna prove it without forensics?"

Tony wondered if he were being accused of causing Abby's predicament, but he chose to misunderstand if that were the case. Again, it was_ time – _there wasn't enough of it for him to spend it justifying himself. "The temporary guy'll be here first thing Monday morning; he's good enough, I'm told."

"Thought there's nothing for him to look at?"

Tony wagged a finger. "Not exactly, and I'm not talking about it." He pushed all possibility out of his tone, as he'd done with Jenny. "You just need to know I'll have it cleared up before IA can even start to twitch."

He wished he couldn't hear a faint edge of derision in Gibbs' tone. "Just like that."

"Just like that," he agreed gravely. "You used to trust me." _Without even thinking about it... _and because he didn't want to hear that derisive note again he hurried on. "Will you come in to work yourself, Monday morning?"

This time Gibbs' tone said don't ask silly questions. "Sure. Why?"

Tony hadn't moved from the foot of the staircase; hadn't moved any further into the room – hell, he hadn't been invited any further in, and now he was glad of that. "Because," he told his former leader calmly, waiting for the explosion, "I'll need you to sit down and give me your recollections of the case; ask you a few questions."

It was a rumble, not a shout. "You want to _interrogate me_?"

"No... I need you to fill me in on what happened. Or Jenny'll do it if you don't want to talk to me, and I'll sit quietly in the background. Conference room, not interrogation. Gibbs, you _know_ we have to do this."

Slowly and deliberately, Gibbs turned his back, saying over his shoulder, "I'll be there." He picked up a spokeshave and began to work.

Tony waited for a while, and almost left, since that was what Gibbs was clearly waiting for, but instead found himself saying, "Gibbs... it doesn't have to be like this."

"No? So you'll come back on the team?"

The effrontery of that, even more than the pain it caused just about took Tony's breath away. "Don't fuck with my head, Gibbs," he muttered, and the bitterness in his tone as well as his words, made the older man turn again. "You wanted me off the team, and you've still kept up the attack since I've been gone. Don't try to make out you want me back, cuz I don't believe you." He turned away himself, towards the stairs, and then paused. "But no, I wouldn't. I wouldn't take a demotion twice. I've got my own team now."

He prayed Gibbs wouldn't fling some parting insult at his back as he headed up the stairs, and the Marine remained mercifully silent.

He sat in his car with his head in his hands. Why had he opened his big mouth? Why had he reacted badly to something _designed _to get a bad reaction out of him? Why had he even come here? And since he had, how the hell had he let it all go wrong, and achieved the opposite of what he'd come for?

_All the wrong questions, Tony_, Kate's voice in his head admonished him. _Try why did Gibbs react the way he did? Try what's going on in his head? Try can you still get him back? Try __**how**__? _He did the only thing he could think of, and pulled out his phone. OK, Kate...

Gibbs didn't know how long he stood there; then he tossed the spokeshave down carelessly, which was a crime, since it was a hand-crafted implement, about eighty years old, given to him by an old master-joiner along with some of his other lovingly cared for tools. He'd been delighted, and promised to cherish them, and up to now he had. He snorted. So now he'd descended into ill-treating things as well as people.

He'd simply wanted DiNozzo to go away and leave him alone. He hadn't actually felt any malice towards the younger man, not while Shannon's chiding was still fresh in his mind, and his former second-in-command's assurances over the case were just what he'd have expected from him, whatever else he'd said to Jenny.

DiNozzo's casual use of the Director's first name had irked him somewhat, although he'd suppressed it, and it was only now that he gave it some thought, and realised that the friendship with her was just another symbol of how the younger man had progressed, while he'd gone backwards.

But the idea of his SFA, who'd taken orders from him, _questioning_ him officially, that much of a reversal of roles was too much to take. He'd waited for him to go, and known he wouldn't, and Tony – there he was, using the guy's first name, which he'd been bending himself in half not to do – had still tried to reach him. He'd been so damn irritatingly right; it didn't have to be like that... Gibbs couldn't stand it, and he'd pushed DiNozzo's buttons as painfully as he could, like only he knew how to do.

_So... he left... which was what you wanted, wasn't it? So it's a helluva waste of time feeling guilty. Why don't they all just leave me alone?_

He picked the spokeshave up again, and turned it over carefully, checking for damage. He'd been using it roughly, so he unpegged the blade and inspected the edge. Apologising silently to the shade of the old craftsman, he put his whetstone flat on the bench and began to hone the blade with slow, careful strokes. It was soothing, repairing something he'd damaged...

There were footsteps again in the room above, that he recognised but was surprised to hear. Someone else who disapproved of him.

"DiNozzo called you."

"And I came right away, Jethro."

_First name. It's been 'Special Agent Gibbs' with a layer of frost up to now._

"So what did he have to say?"

"Jethro, you won't listen to it from him, and I doubt very much you'll listen to it from me. Have you any of the decent stuff down here?"

Gibbs frowned, shrugged, and went to one particular, unremarkable cupboard. "Bit early, isn't it, Ducky?" He lifted out a tall, green bottle of Laphroaig and two decent drinking glasses.

"There are times when only a drop of the Islay will suffice. I'm glad to see you're treating it properly." It had been a gift from himself.

Gibbs poured two restrained amounts; Laphroaig wasn't meant to be chugged. He swept a stack of sandpaper sheets off a stool for Ducky to sit on, and sat down himself on a packing crate. "So, what won't I listen to, Doctor?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Gibbs didn't answer. "Very well, let me ask you a question. Do you expect to keep your team, and your position at NCIS?"

"I've done nothing wrong. Ya think they're going to find something against me? IA? DiNozzo won't let them –"

"Ah. I don't know if you're misunderstanding me deliberately, Jethro, but that wasn't what I meant. Although I did ask Director Sheppard to confirm to me what the procedure usually is in such cases. Apparently it's quite common to ask for evidence to be processed blind; it protects both the investigator and the _investigatee_, so to speak. It's also very common for a case to be handed straight over to IA, and the Director informed me that Anthony told her that if he'd suspected for a moment that you were guilty he'd have insisted she did so straight away."

"He'd have done that to me? He said that?"

"Of course, Jethro. Because if you _were_ guilty, then you wouldn't be the man he knows you to be. He – and Timothy and Ziva – and that very promising young probationer of his, will fight for you to the last, and you well know it."

"So how am I misunderstanding you?"

"You have a former Senior Field Agent, the best you've ever had, whom you drove away. A fine acting second-in-command who's having to do the job, and trying manfully, but not being taught how."

"Wasn't DiNozzo supposed to have done that when he was in charge?"

Ducky sighed. "In four months? Anthony took most of the work on himself, in order to help somebody who'd not that long ago been a probationary agent get over the shock of suddenly being promoted beyond his experience. I would have thought that was obvious, Jethro. You should also understand, of course, that it's one thing being Anthony's second, and quite another being yours. To continue, you have an Israeli liaison officer who's quite understandably concerned about her position and is getting no reassurance at all."

Ducky took a slow sip before he went on sternly, "You have an ME who still considers himself your friend, and always will, but for whom you're making it very difficult because he's not known for holding his tongue. You have a brilliant forensic scientist who won't toe the line because you indulge her, a Director who made it easy for you to return and who's now wondering if she did the right thing, and a whole field section you're doing your best to alienate by your visible hostility towards someone they don't consider deserves it, and your lack of support for your own team. Do you think they'll all go on making allowances, and tolerating your attitude indefinitely? Now, I ask you again, do you expect to keep your team, and position?"

Gibbs sat in silence for a while, sipping the peaty liquid from his glass, lost for words. Ducky gave him all the time he needed. Gibbs knew that everything his friend had said was true, but when it came down to it, he didn't think right now that he had the energy to change. It was a comfort, as he'd told his Shannon-conscience, and he, Jethro Gibbs, lacked the will to give it up. He knew the answer before he asked.

"What should I do, Ducky?"

The old man's eyes were full of something he'd seen in Tony's not an hour ago, and refused to acknowledge. "Stop pushing us away. You _can't _do it alone, Jethro... it's beyond stubborn and foolish, to shut out those who _love_ you, and want to help."

He almost left it at that, knowing that the next part was more unpalatable, but he'd come here to say it.

"And I want you to get professional help. You left hospital too early, you came back to work without the thorough checking over you needed, you avoided me like measles because you knew what I'd have to say. I'd like you to get a comprehensive physical, and to talk to someone less easy to brush off or intimidate than any of our psychiatric experts here."

Gibbs nodded slowly, to Ducky's relief. "OK... sure... if you think so." _The hell..._ _Not now, not ever... not in a million years._

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: If you're in the habit of reading other people's reviews, you'll know which thoughtful and compassionate friend I've paraphrased near the beginning of this chapter.**

**If you don't like BadAbby, don't read...**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 8

Ducky guided the Morgan he'd restored so lovingly away from Gibbs' house, keeping her down to a gentle murmur. Like himself, the venerable lady had a kick when necessary, but local speed limits apart, he needed to think.

He was very aware that he had spoken more than plainly, on the cusp of cruelty; but Anthony had called him asking for help, and this was the only help he could give. They both knew that Gibbs was experiencing deep grief from the remembering of his loss; and anything else must seem trivial in the wake of such tragedy – Anthony had said as much, and not qualified it with any 'buts'.

That was his way, _but_, Ducky reminded himself angrily, Anthony DiNozzo was not trivia. Nor was Timothy, or Ziva, Jethro's own health, or indeed, himself! If his friend was determined to sacrifice everyone and everything he had for the sake of his remembered heart-break, that was indeed his right, and in the end, Ducky would give up trying to prevent him; but he didn't believe it. He didn't have to dig deep into himself to find the conviction that this wasn't Jethro. If it were... well, he would hardly have returned when he could have drunk out his days in a Pacifico haze on the Pacific shoreline!

Ducky slowed right down to allow a young mother and her small, hand-clutching son to cross in front of him; she gave him a nod of thanks with a broad, happy smile. The old man who'd never been a grandfather, and kept his regrets very firmly to himself, smiled back, and began to accelerate again, when a car he recognised appeared from the opposite direction. Since he had time to identify Abby's hearse, it stood to reason that she would notice his roadster, but she was looking straight ahead and he could see that her expression didn't bode well for Gibbs.

The ME drew out his phone, then put it away again. Even if Gibbs answered, there'd not be enough time to warn him. He debated turning round and going back to the house; but implying that Gibbs couldn't deal with a situation himself was tantamount to driving him deeper into his present negative state of mind. _And anyway, Donald, it's really none of your business, much as you'd like to make it so._

Gibbs was forewarned by the footsteps again; his third visitor since mid-day. Easily recognisable, and not happy. There was a small amount of the fine Single Malt still in his glass, and he tossed it back in a way that would have displeased Ducky. _You have a brilliant forensic scientist who won't toe the line because you indulge her... _His head thumped.

"Gibbs, do you know what I've spent the day doing?"

He could guess, (Jenny had told him, and asked him not to make it general knowledge,) and he sympathised up to a point, he'd never enjoyed teaching either, but he opted for ignorance. "Well, you're gonna tell me, Abs."

"_I_ have been packing enough clothes for twelve weeks in Norfolk! _Twelve weeks._.. because I don't know whether they even have washers, or dry cleaners in that God-forsaken place! And when I'd finished packing – at least, I think I've finished, but I may think of other things I need, although they won't let me take my collars, and my studs, or my favourite boots – they have a _dress code,_ Gibbs! All they wear are freaking uniforms, and they want_ me _to observe a dress code! The Director's sending me there just because I didn't do as Tony wanted! When I'd finished packing I had to look over the course and the book's as big as a Bible, Gibbs! It's-"

"It's only for twelve weeks, Abs, and you can come home at weekends..."

"Wait... wait wait wait... you _know_? Why haven't you done something about it? You'd know I don't want to go!"

"Yeah, Abs... I know that. Every year you _avoid _going. But every agency has to contribute a teacher at least once every five years, and you're a good one – ya know, it's really quite an important course." He tried reason. "Might actually help someone with no forensic background to help get justice for someone, or at least not ruin someone else's chances."

"So why can't Robbadoodle or whatever his name is do it?"

He still went for reason, and ignorance. "Because it's your turn, Abs. He needs the experience here, and everyone has to take a turn."

"But I don't want to! I'll have to leave my lab... all my machines...my domain! This is all Tony's fault! You've got to do something, Gibbs!"

Gibbs was startled into an unguarded remark, not something he was often guilty of, and it opened the flood-gates.

"It's _whose_ fault?"

"What? It's Tony's, of course! He shouldn't have been poking into your old cases behind your back! He shouldn't have been investigating you! He can't be trusted, he was trying to find bad things about you! Things _you'd _done wrong!"

His mind flashed back to pinning Tony against the wall in the conference room and accusing him of much the same thing. _Damn it all_..."He's head of the cold case team, Abs. He can investigate whatever he wants to. Including my cases."

"But he shouldn't have gone sneaking around behind your back -"

"You've said that, Abs."

"He should have told me... then I could have protected you!"

"And what if IA had come along and said you'd slanted your investigation to help me?"

"But they'd know I wouldn't -" She stopped.

"You see, Abs? You don't know any such thing. No reason they should believe you just cuz you say so – not their job. What's the standard procedure when you need to be seen to be unbiased?"

"Well... to investigate blind of course... but... but he should have blacked out the number! He should have thought of that -"

"Ya didn't have to look it up though..."

"Or he should have explained it to me! I knew he was up to something... and now I've got to spend twelve weeks in Norfolk just because he was sneaking around like a snake. I'll never forgive him for being so two-faced... he's -"

"Abby!" Gibbs stopped her in mid rant. "Who disobeyed the instruction, Tony or you?"

Mutinous... "Me."

"_Would_ you have slanted the evidence to help me?"

"Well of course I would, Gibbs! I'd never let you get into trouble..."

"So... does that make you trustworthy? Can anyone trust you if you make an admission like that?"

Abby finally, _finally_ realised what she'd said. Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Ya see? Now tell me again that Tony was wrong." Abby didn't answer. "He was doing everything he could to protect me the _right_ way, so nobody could say 'tamper' or 'bias'. Why didn't you just take him at his word? Why didn't you trust him?"

"You don't," she said in a small, angry voice, the words hitting him hard in the gut._ Ack... can't argue with that._

He put her hands on her shoulders. "Norfolk... It's only nine and a half weeks this time Abs, I checked. They've got another two-week course, decay or somethin', that's got to come out of the same finance pot. Go do it, and make sure when you come back that you can look the Director in the eyes and say you understand the reasons for instructions, and for following them."

He tried to soften things a little. She was still his Abby... "Nobody but the Director, DiNozzo, Tim, Ziva and me know why you've been _sent _there – they'll think it's just your turn. Jenny's already makin' sure of that, and ya know Tony – or the others - won't tell anyone... You can come home every weekend, or if I get any spare time ya might see me sitting at the back of your class."

She looked at the floor. "'Kay..." he hated seeing her like this – but if it would change things for the better, then he didn't regret what he'd said.

"Ya want to get some Chinese in?"

"No... still got course prep to do." He kissed her cheek and she headed for the stairs.

"Abs?" She turned at the door, "I _shoulda_ trusted him. So should you."

As she disappeared, he hoped that had sunk in. Hypocrite or what, Jethro? He went hunting for his phone, to call DiNozzo, but he couldn't recall where he'd put it, and the frustration did nothing for his head. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, a wave of weariness engulfed him, and he simply couldn't be arsed to look any further.

NCISNCISNCIS

"Door's open," Tim's voice yelled, and Tony thought of Gibbs and winced as he entered the apartment. McGee was where he'd left him, at the kitchen table; there was a notepad beside his left elbow. He pointed to the coffee pot. "Fresh," he said. "You could pour me one as well," and waited to see if he'd be teased.

Tony heaved his shoulders up and made himself as wide as possible, saying "Yes, Sir," in a reasonable Lurch impression. A few moments later they were both sitting with their steaming mugs, and both spoke at once.

"Found anything?"

"How'd you get on?"

"You first," Tim added.

"Fine – ish – cool but civil... until I mentioned interviewing him on Monday. He didn't like it. I've told him it has to happen, and left him to get used to the idea. I don't think he's well... his eyes were narrow all the time, and I don't think it was just cuz he was looking at me! Headachy, you know? I asked Ducky to go see him, and like the champ he is, he said he'd go right away. You?"

"Alex rang... she didn't want to bother you, but she wondered how things were, and asked if I'd heard from you. I was... positive."

Tony looked quizzical. "She could have called me... sounds like she just needed an excuse to talk to you."

"Don't go there... I've already made a fool of myself in that direction."

"Which she wouldn't hold against you. She told me about your plans to get to know each other better as seconds-in-command, have to say I think that's a good thing. Initiative..."

"And... anything else?"

Tony's eyebrows went up, then he just smiled. "I'm not Gibbs," he said. "So...what else? On the case, I mean."

Tim turned the notepad towards him. "You've spoken to Melanie. I've tracked down Asfar and spoken to him; he's still with the corps, signed up for USUHC, studying to be a doctor. He says he'll happily repeat his statement, or we can arrange a vid-con – he's at Cornell, the Manhattan campus – but he hasn't remembered anything new."

He pointed down the list. "Lee Crawford, still with the corps, in the Balkans; MTAC are going to get back to me about talking to him. Eddie Carmody, still with the corps, on leave at the moment, trying to track him down. Heather McKellar, still with the corps – training nurses for the field at Norfolk; I've spoken to her too, she says she'll call if she thinks of anything, but she, like Melanie, Asfar, Laura and Lee," he counted off on his fingers, "didn't leave the restaurant until way after the murder took place. Laura Aberg, left the corps when her contract was up, got married, lives in Nebraska. Not contacted her yet. Sam Neville's doing well, can contact him through MTAC."

Tony frowned and began to point to the list, and Tim drew a ring round one name. "Yeah, Sheena," he said. "Sheena Fothergill; left the restaurant that night, after giving her statement which amounted to 'I was with the Navy Boys, I didn't see anything', dropped out of sight – didn't report for her deployment two days later, went UA and hasn't been seen since."

"And nobody thought to tell NCIS that?" Tony asked in exasperation. Tim shook his head. "That's the sort of information Gibbs would have appreciated at the time. Have you – "

"Pulled up everything on her I could up to that point?"

"Course you have... " Tony's phone rang. "Hi, Ziva!"

"_Tony! You are not at home."_

"No... I'm at McGee's. Where are you?"

"_Outside your apartment. When you called earlier I was out running; I thought perhaps you needed to talk to me, so I came over."_

"Well, yes. I was anxious about Gibbs, but you hadn't spoken to him, so I called the Director."

"_Oh." _There was something seething down the airwaves, but he wasn't sure what it was. _"What are you doing at McGee's?"_

He wasn't going to tell her over the phone. "Senior Field Agent stuff that McGee needs. And drinking coffee. Is something wrong?"

"_No, of course not, why would you think that?"_

"Oh, I just wondered. Are you all right? You sound... I dunno... tense?"

"_I am fine, Tony. I... will see you on Monday."_ She disconnected abruptly.

"Is Ziva OK?"

Tony shook his head slowly. "She's not happy... I don't know how this whole Gibbs thing is affecting her. We lost our last opportunity to talk, and she's avoided me since."

Tim nodded. "If I've been out of my depth, it must be ten times worse for her."

"I said something like that to Alex – I don't think her position here's under threat, but I can't tell her what she needs to hear. She needs to take a deep breath and ask Jenny outright. I guess I could prime Jen... but it could be taken as interference."

Tim nodded again, and decided to go for it. "Of course," he said ruefully, "she could just think you're at Alex's."

Tony didn't go down the 'that's ridiculous I'm her boss' route, he figured Tim knew all that stuff already. He just grinned sadly. "If she turns up in the next ten minutes, she's checking whether I'm telling the truth."

"She'll see your car."

"_'Hah! Just because his car is there does not mean that he is, McGee.'_" Tony's impression of Ziva was better than his previous one of Lurch.

"It's a funny sort of jealousy," Tim went on, wondering where the hell he'd ever got the nerve from. "She doesn't show... any affection towards you, at least not in front of the rest of us – I don't know if that's because Gibbs wouldn't like it – but she doesn't like it when anyone else does..." He waited to be told to mind his own business.

Tony just shrugged. "That's far too McPerspicacious for me," he said. "You're right – and don't get too used to me telling you that. I thought... hey, it doesn't matter what I thought. What else have we got?"

"We?"

"OK, you. Yeah, you've done great so far. Come on, amaze me."

Tim pulled a face. "Well, I haven't found Shirlee, not spelling it any way I could think of. But..." he clicked, and turned the screen towards Tony, who read, and whistled. It was a military memo, from Colonel Hilliard Neville, to Captain Tom Mars, Sam Neville's CO, dated six months after the case.

_Tom: I hear there's to be an inquiry to ascertain what went wrong during the patrol April 27th that my son was leading. Don't feel you owe it to me to hold back in any way if he was responsible. Hill_

"Talk about have faith in your kid. The old bastard. Was there a reply?" Tim clicked again.

_Hill: Don't worry. The inquiry's into why the intel received was wrong; your son's exemplary behaviour got his patrol out of trouble with no casualties. He'll probably get a commendation. Tom _

"Nice work, McSFA... that answers the relationship question... beggars another one though - "

"Why does he have such a bad opinion of him?" Tim filled in. He paused. "One to ask Gibbs, maybe? Although Sam was only seven when Gibbs left the corps... don't know if he'd know anything -"

"Unless they've kept in touch, which is another thing to ask," Tony finished, and they glanced at each other. The idea bouncing was like old times.

Tim frowned. "I kind of hope they haven't," he said. "Then Neville can't have asked Gibbs to do anything."

"But if he did, we have to hope Gibbs won't have any residual loyalty that stops him from telling us. Me. I don't know what the protocol is, but I don't think you could be there unless he asked for it."

"Can't see that," Tim said gloomily.

"See what?" Ziva asked, walking in without knocking. Tony got the feeling, as she looked at him, that she'd have asked him to stand up if she could, to feel if the chair he was sitting on was warm from his ass. He wondered if she'd felt the hood of his car.

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs eyed the Laphroaig bottle for a while, then put it back in the cupboard, and closed the door firmly. He carried the glasses upstairs and rinsed them, leaving them upside down on the drainer, then sat down on the sofa and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the nagging pain that seemed to stretch on a thread between them. He knew his own body pretty well, and would still say he was fit for field work if anyone asked.

But the headache, that was another thing. He hadn't had it in Mexico, he knew. Not once he'd got over the residual aches and pains from the explosion. He hadn't had it when he'd returned to help Ziva, but it had started, he thought, when he'd gone back, and _come_ back again. That first trip – he knew it had been a bad idea, because he'd actually been bored to the back teeth by the beach-bum life, and he was only going to be reminded of what he was missing.

That had proved to be so, and little as he wanted to come back, he wanted to stay away even less. Was a damn tension headache that much of a surprise?

_Do you expect to keep your team, and your position at NCIS? _

Damned if I do, damned if I don't, Duck.

_Do you think they'll all go on making allowances, and tolerating your attitude indefinitely?_

OK, OK, Ducky, you win. I'll do the interview with DiNozzo and play nicely, then you can fix up for someone to check me over. How's that.

_Well, Jethro,_ the cultured voice in his mind admonished him, _I'll reserve judgement on that until I've actually seen you do it._

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Thanks again for the huge response, it's very much appreciated. Thanks all the un-logged in guests – earthdragon, I loved your bourbon comment. **

**To the guest who tells me I'm much better now because there aren't so many Briticisms: You seem to be under the impression that I've done something differently. I haven't changed one iota of my British writing, and I'm not damn well going to.**

**Ytteb pointed out that Gibbs might find it difficult to do his job if he didn't like teaching. Point taken – I didn't make it clear that he was thinking of when he'd been a Gunny, teaching recruits in a classroom – maybe aircraft recognition or something like that! Sorry - I don't think he has any trouble teaching his rules! **

**Chief – when I got the idea for Laura's story, there wasn't time to consult you, and I can't find any information online, so I took a shot at what I thought would likely happen.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 9

"Have you been working here with Tim all day, Tony?" _Leading question; she knows that engine's too warm to have sat out there since morning._

The Italian leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms until his shoulders cracked, and grinned lazily. "McGee invited me for a McLunch. I tell you, Tim, those fajitas were special. I don't know who Sarah is, but I'd like to marry her if she cooks like that."

Tim laughed. "Tony, you are _so_ not going to meet Sarah!"

Tony pouted, then got serious. "I came over, did some work – or McGee did most of it –" he forestalled Tim's protest. "I went out again – " he paused for a moment, just to see her wondering how to ask, "to see Gibbs, didn't go so well, came back." He felt a little bit guilty at winding her up, but in the back of his mind, he knew why he did it. He had opened up completely to her, and still she was hiding herself. Why didn't she just come out and ask '_Have you been working with Alex? I thought you gave her the weekend off?_' Why must she still keep trying to conceal what she was thinking from him? He knew the answer; she didn't care for him enough not to do it. It was going to be the death of him if he let it. Enough.

"Zi," he said firmly, a huge decision made on the fringes of his consciousness. She looked at him, hearing something in his tone but not able to pin it down. "You can stay," he raised an eyebrow at Tim, his place after all, and the younger man just grinned. "Or you can get away now. If you stay, you're colluding with me to protect Gibbs."

"I will stay."

He smiled briefly. "Wouldn't have expected anything else. We don't think they could prove it anyway, about people who've worked together long enough to discuss anything, any time – and anyway, it's my absolute intention to wrap this up way before IA even get a sniff of it. So... Plan of action."

"Well," Tim said just as seriously, putting a coffee at Ziva's elbow, "if you want to ask Asfar Iltaf or Heather McKellar any more questions, tell me what to ask, because I said I was you – they might notice a different voice. All the arrangements with MTAC I did by messaging, so that's not a problem."

Tony grinned, and mimed doffing his cap. "I like your thinking, but I'll take a chance. On my head be it.. OK, questions." He pushed Tim's note-pad to Ziva. "These are the witnesses, and what we know so far." He gave her a few minutes to study the pad, then went on, "Your starter question for fifty dollars... where does Eddie Carmody like to go when he's on leave."

"Did Laura Aberg leave the corps for any other reason than wishing to marry?" Ziva added.

"Who did Dane talk to to make him 'stung' as Melanie put it... I'm tempted to theorise Sheena, if only because he liked her; they talked, but later she was with the navy guys. But theories are – "

Tim's computer pinged, and he fell silent to look at the screen, then he frowned. He scrolled, and tapped, and frowned some more. "This gets stranger by the minute. I looked to see when the last activity was on Sheena's UA. There's never been any."

"That is not so surprising, is it, Tim? As I understand it, no branch of the Military wastes time and resources on hunting AWOL personnel unless they are from a significant or covert branch. A lowly private of..." Ziva glanced at the notepad again, "eighteen months service, would surely not provoke much interest?"

"You understand correctly, Ziva. But a record _is_ kept, and occasionally updated if information's received. It's not that there's no update for Sheena – there's no record. The only information on her disappearance is the absence report from her unit... apart from that, she doesn't exist."

"You're right about it getting stranger..." Tony said slowly. "We have missing evidence, which only focusses attention on the person it was trying to protect. There was no other reason to consider Sam Neville a suspect but for the tampering. Now we have a witness whose disappearance was covered up, when there was really no need to. Does that suggest the same culprit to you?"

Tim nodded. "It has to be a member of the Military – who has some influence over a Baggy- I mean, an evidence clerk."

"This is a strange character trait," Ziva put in. "What sort of person interferes without thinking it through, to keep a cap on the situation?"

The two men looked at each other, racing to get the word. "Lid!" Tim said triumphantly.

"Lid. Cap. What is the difference? He wishes to keep control, does he not. Or she."

"Control! Now that's the word we need... we talking about a control freak here, d'you think?" Tony looked at the other two for confirmation, and got it. "Let's not jump to conclusions, _but _who do we know interfered, unnecessarily, in an investigation into a patrol incident concerning his son?"

Tim brought up the exchange of memos, and showed Ziva. "This is not a pleasant man," she said. "And did not Mrs. Berthold's statement say something about him?"

Tony nodded and smiled his approval; she'd only had a few moments to skim through all the information. "He's been on my mind for this almost from the first," he said. "Seems like he thinks his son's guilty – and he's trying to cover up... but why, if he's got such a low opinion of him?"

"We need to find some connection between him and the Bad Bunnies," Ziva said, "and we need to hear what those witnesses have to say." Tony grinned, but this time neither man said anything.

"I do, Ziva, not you. This, and I'm grateful, believe me, is as far as you two go. For your own sakes."

His two former team-mates looked fairly mutinous until they'd thought about it, then Ziva announced she needed the bathroom, and disappeared.

"We're getting somewhere," Tony said. "I owe you, McFerret... since you're not going to let me meet and marry the paragon Sarah, and have you over to sample more of her wonderful cooking, how about Casa Isabella," he rubbed his gut, "like, now?"

"Now would be good," Tim agreed. He closed his computer down, and went to load the debris of lunch into the dishwasher.

Tony wandered out into the lounge to find his jacket, and Tim heard him asking Ziva if she'd like to join him for dinner. For a moment he wondered why his – friend – yeah, come on, try the word, we're getting back there... had said 'join me', not 'us', but a moment later he understood. The reply came very quickly. "Oh – oh no, Tony, thank you but I have work to do tonight."

"Oh, that's a shame. McGee's coming..."

"Oh!" Pause. "No... I cannot. I will see you on Monday, Tony." She hastily looked round the kitchen door. "Goodbye Tim, thank you for the coffee!" A moment later she was gone.

Tim said wryly, "She was going to change her mind until she realised how it'd look."

"Yeah," Tony said. Decision made, then. Let it go. "So, just you and me then."

"Well, I'm brilliant company."

"Sure you are, McGeektalk – don't forget you'll have to explain every other word!"

Tim let out a stream of technospiel, without pausing for breath, as they headed for the door.

NCISNCISNCIS

Sunday was bright and clear, and a late lunchtime found Tony walking with Alex and Jackie in Fort Totten Park, burger in hand, while Jasmine scampered ahead, catching falling leaves. He'd called his partner to update her, and explained he'd have to spend the morning in MTAC.

"Do you want me to come and help?"

"No, I'll want your opinion, sure, but it'll all be recorded anyway. If you think of anything I should have asked, we can ask again. I'll call you this afternoon to tell you what I find out."

"Better still, when you're done, come over and walk in the park. The hot-dog stand's a good one. Get some fresh air, update me, and then if you think I should come in, Aunt Jackie will take Jaz home. Am I bossy if I say you need to chill a bit before you take Gibbs on?"

So here he was, chilling, counting off on his fingers the people he'd spoken to, and reporting in to the best listener he'd met since Gibbs. The difference was that this one commented back.

Student doctor Asfar Iltaf had been happy to speak to him, but truly hadn't anything more to say.

"_I'm quite a quiet person, and really, I'd just gone to be with my friends before we all took our different paths. I was sad that it ended so badly. I remember Eddie being in a bad mood, and going out – I thought for some fresh air – but really, I was simply enjoying talking to Lee, and that nice young lady Melanie, whom I'd only just met. She was a good friend of Dane's; I gave her a lift home because she was in a very tearful state." _And that was it.

"He came over as quiet and thoughtful even the way he phrased his statement," Alex said. "But he doesn't know anything significant."

Lee Crawford said the same; Sam had been the peacemaker, but there'd been no fight anyway. He'd not even seen Sheena's antics, he didn't care for her very much.

He didn't re-interview Heather, he might later, but Tim had asked all the questions he would have done.

Laura Aberg, now Thorstvedt, had been happy to Skype from her home in Nebraska.

"_That night?I often think about it... but honestly, nothing new comes to mind about what happened. I know the word fight was used, but it really wasn't. Just two guys fancying the same girl... I did feel sorry for Dane, though."_

Tony's ears had pricked up._ "Why was that?"_

"_He really liked Sheena... and she led him on... but that was what she was like. Can I miaow here?" _

He'd grinned. _"Be my guest."_

"_She was really pretty, but not over smart, and so-o-o shallow. I'm sure she got through basic training by batting her eyelids at the instructors and making them go easy on her! She played the two of them, Dane and Eddie, off against each other, then went to flirt with the navy guys. I'm sure she hurt Dane by it, he was the type to take these things seriously and it riled Eddie too, I told Special Agent Burley that I thought Sam was trying to keep the peace between them, not join in."_

"_So Sam Neville was being the good guy?"_

"_That was what he was like. He'd spent that morning servicing Eddie's car, and Heather's, as well as his own, did you know that? So they wouldn't suffer from being stood idle while we were away."_

"Damn," Alex said – "that knocks on the head any idea of the oil sample singling out one particular vehicle." But it showed yet more of this weird anomaly – everyone liked Sam – except his father. He was a Staff Sergeant now, his file full of commendations; even his official photograph showed a guilelessly decent man.

Laura had continued without prompting. _"I must sound like I carried a torch for Sam – I didn't; he was just a really good friend. I don't know how he was such a nice guy with a father like his."_

Paydirt!

"_You knew his father?"_

"_Oh yeah. He was my CO. F- no, I'm a lady these days. **Messed** up my life."_

Tony didn't know what he was going to hear, and he just shut up.

"_I'd been three years in the Corps by then. I heard I was transferring to Sam's father's command, I got a real shock. He didn't like women in the marines. Women period. He didn't like that I knew his son, and liked him. He didn't like it when I fell in love – which was a stupid thing to do when I'd sworn I never would again – but hey, it was the best thing I ever did, in the end._

"_You know what happens? Usually, unless you're in a combat zone, your CO will turn a blind eye to the odd snog, while he fixes to transfer one of you the hell out of there. Because you can't serve together. It hurts, but you know if your feelings are real if they last when that happens. It's for the best, and you know it's like that when you sign up. You're expected to fess up, right? So Erik and I did; now bear in mind that we behaved completely correctly, and dear old Hill, instead of asking which of us would be happier to ship out, told us we were marines not skanks and refused to let either of us go._

"_Then he watched us like hawks to see if he could catch us out. He cornered me in a store-room one day and asked me if I wanted to screw – not the word he used – the whole company, told me people like me who behaved like sl – again, I used language then but I've given it up – were weak minded and a poison to the honour of the Corps. More of the same whenever he got the chance – he spent more time raving on about the honour of being a marine, and how nothing else mattered in life, he was like that with everybody; until I finally got a transfer by going over his head. I was going to stay in, but the thought of serving under someone like him again and never being able to see Erik – couldn't risk it. I came out, did my four years on the reserve list – I'm still on it now," _she'd added proudly,_ "and at least I see my husband when he comes home on leave, instead of never!"_

Tony had finally thought to say something._"Phew. So you're happy now? I'm glad."_

"_Oh yes." _

"_Tell me more about not liking you liking his son, if you see what I mean. That's just weird."_

"_Just his attitude when Sam's name was mentioned. He'd sneer, and ask if whoever it was had permission to speak, or if it was someone who outranked him, he'd change the subject. I hear he retired a year after I came out. Good riddance."_

He'd thanked her for her time and her honesty, and gone back up to MTAC, to finally meet the young man in question.

Staff Sergeant Samuel Hilliard Neville had been wearing his uniform, his two medals, a chunky wedding ring and an open smile, all with equal grace.

"_Pleased to meet you, Special Agent DiNozzo. I hear you want to talk about Dane."_

Curiosity, and shades of regret, Tony had thought. No guilt or anxiety.

"_I do. I just have a couple of questions really... when you gave your statement to Special Agent Burley, you didn't say what you'd been talking to your friends about. That is, Eddie and Dane."_

Now the Sergeant did look a bit guilty. _"Er, no... they'd been squabbling like teenagers over a girl... I didn't want to rat on them over something so stupid – I guess I thought Eddie'd tell him himself. Did I do wrong, Sir?"_

"_Not really, Sergeant. It's just that Eddie never did admit it. So, tell me in your own words what happened that night."_

"_Well, we'd finished eating, people were dancing, or talking... Sheena was flirting with anyone she could, but especially Dane and Eddie. She was like that. Dane was getting agitated because he took it seriously... he thought she really did like him. Eddie was getting jealous because she seemed to be giving Dane more attention, but instead of realising it was Sheena who was causing the problem, he kept having a go at Dane. I told Eddie that, but he just said I was bad-mouthing Sheena. He went off outside, to cool down, I thought." _

"_He went by himself?"_

"_Oh yes. Shoved past me, sneezed all over me for good measure."_

"_Eew. OK, so what happened next?"_

The Sergeant smiled ruefully._ "Well, I thought since I'd made an idiot of myself once I might as well do it all over again, so I tried to have a word with Dane, but he'd had maybe a little more than a very moderate drinker should, and he wasn't listening either. He went over to Sheena again, and I went outside to talk to Eddie."_

"_What did you say to him?"_

"_I didn't...there was no sign of him. Some more navy guys were coming from their cars – I asked one I knew if he'd seen Eddie go. He hadn't, but he pointed down the lot to where my nice new Impala was. Told me someone had hit my indicator light, and broken it. We walked back down there, with his friends, and I was trying not to be mad as blazes... first new car I ever owned – got a legacy from my granddad. It was like assaulting **him,** you know?"_

The young Marine had laughed sadly then, and continued, _"Well, that'll teach me to get hung up on unimportant things, cuz we stood there for a while, talking about security cameras, and then Eddie came running up, crying and screaming about how someone had run Dane down and kept on going."_

"So I asked him about his alibi, and got another really weird piece of the jigsaw."

"_So, from the time you went out to talk to Eddie to the time he came back, you were never alone?"_

The Marine had stiffened at once. _"No , Sir. My alibi's good. Unless you've been talking to my father?"_

"_No, Sergeant, I haven't. I believe you. So... your father didn't?"_

"_Heard what had happened, saw my broken lamp glass, and no amount of swearing the opposite from my friends could convince him that I hadn't run Dane over myself. It's just how he is with me Sir," _he'd added, seeing Tony's incredulous look. _"You don't believe me? When I came home on my first leave, that Chevvy had vanished – the gift from my grandfather. I tracked it down, and bought it back, so I paid twice for it, just to show him he couldn't do that to me, and I never went home to live again. He tried to conceal a crime he thought I'd committed, because it would have brought dishonour on the Corps."_

Tony had shaken his head. _"Must hurt, to have him be like that with you."_

"_Oh yeah. But I'm a proud Marine, and I've got people who **do **love me."_

They sat down on a park bench as Tony finished his tale.

"Poor Sam," Alex said sadly. "What on earth could he have done to deserve that?"

"What is it with ageing Marines? Some go mean, some go barking mad!" He paused, remembering Ernie Yost. "Some are heroes..." Gibbs had been his...

Across the grass, Jasmine squeaked as she caught a beautiful bronze leaf, and showed it to Jackie. He looked around at the trees and grass, the giggling child and her stately aunt; the whole sane, normal picture, soaking it into his mind that was too full of negatives.

"Well," he said cheerfully, "I know who did what now -"

"You do?"

"Sure. So do you, if you think about it. It's just the how that's not clear, but we'll get to it. We still need to know if there's another crime – what happened to Sheena... we have to be cautious until we've answered that one."

"We just need a few more jigsaw pieces, then?"

"Yeah... and in the mean time there's always Gibbs..."

TBC

**AN: Sorry, entire chapter spent on evidence... questioning Gibbs next, and maybe some action?**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Shorter chapter than usual, I needed to say something quickly, that I'm very embarrassed about. ANs should be about stories, but I've no other way of doing this.**

**Charley Horse, I apologise unreservedly in front of everyone – the problem with getting anonymous reviews is that when they have content that relates to others you don't know who you're speaking to. Your reviews were indeed entirely courteous, and in the context of your previous comments, your last message was completely in keeping and actually supportive, not negative. **

**Unfortunately I associated it with one that had upset me very greatly, and now I've offended you by going off half-cocked at completely the wrong person. And it took a fellow writer and true friend to point out my mistake. I really am so sorry. The comment wasn't actually aimed at you at all, and that'll teach me for losing my temper.**

**On a lighter note, although I have to say I don't feel light right now, Earthdragon – You're right, she's much too young, and Tim would have apoplexy. Have you read Snotwing's 'Stranded' btw? Great Tony/Sarah friendship story.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 10

Why would Gibbs have any reason to be mad at him, he asked himself over and over again, as he headed into the Yard early on Monday morning. He knew most of it now, he was sure he could prove it to anyone's satisfaction given just a little more time, and he had until tomorrow. In a way, the interview with Gibbs wasn't really necessary any more, unless he could supply another jigsaw piece or two, but he'd use sticking to protocol as his excuse to reach out a bit more to him. He was sure the Marine needed that, and just as sure that he'd resist it with every fibre of his stubborn being.

He still felt the lingering swirls of negative energy around him; Abby was in Norfolk, having driven down last night. She'd let Tim know she'd arrived, but still refused to answer his own calls. He had a new forensics expert to meet and plead for the very best from; Jenny had said he was twenty-four and looked like Jimmy Olsen, to which Tony had replied that was _his_ line, and right now what they needed was Superman. She'd also confirmed that Abby would only be gone for just over nine weeks, which lessened his _not_guilt a little.

Watching Jasmine tearing round the park yesterday had helped to ground him; he wished he could have taken Gibbs to walk with them – but then, given what he'd lost he couldn't do that to him – Tony sighed, as his spirits plummeted again. He _would _pull himself out of this... but he was still avoiding the real issue. He'd decided, and he wasn't going back on it; now he needed to put it to bed.

He pulled into his parking slot, and sat for a moment. Ziva... she hadn't wanted to be alone with him – her reaction had been immediate. Clearly, she didn't want any sort of physical contact with him, nor did she want to talk to him, probably for fear of his trying to go deeper than she wanted to hear. That wasn't going to happen ever again...

"_This thing where she wants to know where you are and who you're with, Boss." _Ow, Tony had thought, she's reminding me she's my subordinate, and I can shut her up if I want. He raised the usual eyebrow that she'd got used to as a sign of encouragement, when he didn't want to speak and interrupt a train of thought. _"Whatever it is... it's not love." _Yeah... know that. _"You know that term 'Dog in the Manger?'"_

"_Aesop's fables... Ah. Ow."_

"_I'm sorry if that's cold." _Alex's voice had been low and sad.

Jasmine had danced over at that moment, and hung onto the words she understood.

"_Baby Jesus had a manger... did he have a dog?"_

"_Maybe he did when he was a little boy," _Tony had improvised._ "No, see, this dog, he jumped up into a manger full of food for the cows. He couldn't eat the hay, but when the cows came near he barked and frightened them away so they couldn't eat it either."_

"_**Naughty **__dog!" _Jasmine skipped off again, and Tony sighed.

"_I hear what you're saying. Didn't want to believe it."_

"Didn't?"

"_I do now. I'll get over it, Alex, don't worry." _He'd forced a smile, then looked over to where Jasmine was tugging on her great-aunt's hand and pulling her back towards them. The big lady wore a cream woollen cape she'd knitted herself, and again Tony thought of a tall sailing ship._"D'you think Jackie would have me? Am I man enough for her?" _Alex had laughed, remembering their first meeting.

He smiled at the memory too, then huffed as those negative tendrils tugged at him again. "I do now," he muttered, "I'll get over it." He sprang resolutely out of his car, noting as he went by that Gibbs' vehicle wasn't in its slot, and strode indoors.

There was a hand-written note on his desk. _'Tony- come down to the lab as soon as you arrive. J.'_

He headed down right way, composing his face into a pleasant smile just in case Jenny was … right. Jimmy Olsen – or maybe Doogie Howser. The forensic scientist didn't look a day over sixteen, whatever his birth certificate might have said, but the expression on his face belied that completely. He frowned in concentration at whatever the Director was saying to him, and glanced towards the safe just as Tony came through the door.

"Tony – you got my message. This is Dr. Robbie Dooley..." Jenny made the introductions, and both men assessed each other while trying not to look as if they were.

"Director Shepard tells me you have something urgent you need me to do, " the young man said; his voice was calm, and older than his face.

"Well, yeah. I need you to pull a rabbit out of a hat for me, Robbie. How much has Director Shepard told you?"

"That evidence from a cold case has been tampered with, there's very little left, and it involves the legendary Jethro Gibbs, who you used to work for. Which makes things tricky."

"That about sums things up," Tony said wryly. "I'll fill you in on the details as we go, but I need to show you the evidence. I saw you looking at the safe – do you know the code?"

Robbie smiled. "I just learned it. Shall we have a look?"

He opened the safe with a gloved hand, and as he reached in to lift the box out, Tony said "By the corners. Those two." The younger man frowned curiously, but didn't argue.

As he lifted the box his eyes widened in puzzlement at the lightness of it. "It's –" Robbie didn't bother to finish what he was going to say, but set the box down carefully, and lifted the lid, nodding in confirmation of his surmise. He looked at Tony, and their rueful expressions mirrored each other. "Empty. Hmm...Rabbit..." the scientist said. "Hat. Right." He nodded firmly. "Start at the beginning."

Tony was half-way through the story when Alex joined them, and after a quick introduction, she settled into the narrative with him, as they all sat around the table with the box sitting on it between them, issuing its silent challenge.

"I get it now," Robbie said finally. He grinned at Tony. "You need a rabbit. If there's so much as a _hare _of evidence, I'll find it for you. Leave it with me."

"Gurrr," Alex said.

"Ow," Tony agreed. "I believe you will. Thanks, Dr. Dooli- Dooley."

"You were going to say Doolittle, weren't you?"

Tony spread his hands apologetically. "It's all these animals."

Robbie laughed. "It's been said before."

"I figured," Tony told him. "That's why I stopped myself." He and Alex headed for the door, smiling.

"Seems a nice guy," Alex said, and Tony had to agree.

His grin faded quickly, though. "Did you notice if Gibbs had arrived yet?"

"He was with Director Shepard. Tony, d'you want me to be there? I mean, I'm your partner, but if Gibbs is going to feel crowded I don't have to -"

"Don't worry. You're my partner, like you said... and you can be sure Gibbs'll expect me to have you there – to learn what questioning _him's_ all about!"

"Do I have to keep my mouth shut?"

"Have I ever said that to you?"

"No..."

"Alex, you'll know when to speak and when to keep shtum... I trust your judgement, OK?"

"Oh..." she wore a surprised, pleased smile. "That's...er... that's good!"

NCISNCISNCIS

"Ya gonna use that thing?" Gibbs pointed to the recorder that sat on the coffee table, looking at it as if it were a scorpion.

Tony had chosen the sunniest, most pleasant of the conference rooms, and made sure the coffee machine was loaded and ready. They weren't sitting at the large table, but in the armchairs by the window, one each end of the coffee table, with Alex sitting demurely in the middle with a notepad. Jenny had escorted Gibbs in, almost as if she was expecting him to bolt, and left them to it.

"This isn't an interrogation, Gibbs," Tony said patiently. "If you want us to record anything, we will, but you know what this is about – I need to know what you know." He reached over to the coffee jug, poured the Marine a stiff one, and set it on the table. Gibbs still had that narrow-eyed look, and Tony couldn't tell if it was just the expression he habitually got levelled at him, or if it was a headache – but he did feel that the last thing the other man needed right now was more caffeine. He wasn't going to deprive him though.

He hunched forwards, with his elbows on his knees. "Director Shepard's expecting a visit from a bereaved father tomorrow. I promised I'd have something for her to tell him. I have, and I will. But there are holes in what I know."

"And ya think with the _holes_ in my memory I'm gonna have anything useful to tell you?"

Clear, unruffled green eyes met sharp, irritated blue ones. "Oh yeah. You're Gibbs. You'll remember something."

Gibbs snorted, irrationally narked that he couldn't get a rise out of this confident, at ease guy... where had the useless goofball gone? "Whaddaya want to know?"

"Your report on the Lishman murder; if you put it alongside Stans', you know they don't completely tie up."

"What?"

"His starts with arriving at the murder scene, the evidence that was found there, then going back to the restaurant where the victim had eaten, and interviewing witnesses. Yours begins with dismissing the witnesses and returning to the Yard to start pulling information."

"That's crap. I wouldn't write half a report like that and you know it. I remember getting the call – driving out there – I remember what the kid looked like after he'd been thrown up in the air by a FWD and come down again like a rag doll. And it went in my report."

"Yeah, 'm sure it did. But that part of the report was missing, remember? The fact that they didn't match up – I'm trying to tell you here, that's how we knew part of yours was missing. Gibbs, why did you say FWD?"

"It's in the goddam report, DiNozzo! His shins were broken at the right level for a bull bar!"

"Not a Chevvy Impala?"

"What are you talking about? Where d'ya get a Chevvy from?"

"Sam Neville drove an Impala. If you're right about the bull bar, I'd say that's Sam in the clear – although I already knew he was. But the bull bar isn't in Ducky's report." Alex looked at her Boss in surprise that he could remember a detail like that, just as Gibbs surged to his feet. "Which ya sayin'? Ducky's wrong or I'm a liar?" He began to head for the door.

Tony's voice behind him was quiet, and brought him up short. "Gibbs. _Please_."

TBC

**AN: Longer one next time to make up for this being so short.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: I have some thank-yous, but I'll keep them until I've explained (or at least tried) what I'm thanking for.**

**I got that very blunt review, informing me I was _unrelentingly_ British, and that I needed what was to me a mildly insulting term derived from a definitely insulting term. It was like mowing a two acre lawn by hand and being told I'd not strimmed round the tree, since all the non-American writers I know, myself included, have continuously _tried_ to write American for an American show, the necessity for that being understood. **

**People like the Chief, who's been a great help to me for a long time now, would assure you that's true, and that I don't have a problem with concrit that's politely given..**

**I had a rant, got over it, deleted it, left a note to remind myself and the pals I'd ranted to, and moved on.**

**Two chapters later I got what I _thought_ was a review from the same person. If you segue the two it looks like someone claiming credit for my miraculous improvement because I'd done what they ordered me to! Perhaps I _am_ arrogant – I can take criticism, but definitely _not_ patronisation, so, (rule eight went out the window,) I assumed it was one person, thought 'enough is enough', and let rip. Charley Horse, completely innocent, got it in the neck.**

**I'm still totally horrified that I upset her, and that I came over as high handed. I'll certainly admit to being defensive and prickly by nature... although in my said defence, in three years of writing for the site it's the first time I've ever reacted publicly. However, it was a fearful lapse of sanity to open my electronic mouth at all, I've never seen it lead to anything good for anyone else.**

**So thank you, Charley Horse for accepting my apology.**

**Thank you, 'Please Explain' for your last message; I hope I have explained a little.**

**Thank you, dear bloodhound, for your help. As if you haven't got enough on your plate!**

**And this morning I got a speeding ticket...**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 11

Twelve lids of evidence boxes, borrowed from the Bunnies with a boyish smile and a promise to bring them back before the end of the morning sat on a side table, their work already done; a micrometer and a notepad sat beside them. Four spotlights surrounded a table in the centre of the lab; The Box sat between them all, like the victim of some crude interrogation technique. Robbie prowled round it with a huge magnifying lens in one hand and a camera in the other. Peer, snap; peer, snap; for a long time that was all he did, then he leaned in closer. "A-ha!"

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs stopped, struck by a recollection. Last time he could remember hearing that tone of voice it had been a young marine sergeant, asking how to cope with the death of his wife. There were other times, he was sure, memories plucked and tugged at his mind, but didn't surface; it was something that happened frequently, ever since the explosion, and it was unbearably frustrating.

He concentrated on the here and now. He didn't think DiNozzo had ever said 'please' to him before; was he trying to manipulate him, or... no, not any more than that young Marine had been. The guy must have a reason for sounding like that; he'd figure it in the end. _He'd _known exactly how to push DiNozzo'sbuttons, the other day, hadn't he? How'd he known that? How much didn't he know about how many things? Facing a future like this – it was way more terrifying than going into battle. He turned slowly, and came back to the table. He lowered himself into his chair and took a large swig of the coffee the younger man had poured him.

"Yeah..." he said finally, pulling up a clear memory. "Ducky didn't want to be that specific. Thought it could have been a delivery truck, or anything where the fenders were set high. But what would a delivery van have been doing round there at that time of night? My gut, and the way he looked, said bull bar. What?" He paused, and stiffened again, seeing a pleased expression slowly dawn on Tony's face. "You knew."

"I talked to Ducky. I just wanted to find some way to show you the memories _are_ there, and they _are_ useful, and that's the first thing that's come up. He said you could be right, by the way, he just didn't want to discount anything else."

Bastard _had_ manipulated him. It wasn't smug, and it wasn't confrontational, Gibbs had to give him that, it seemed to be to help him and he'd promised himself to play nicely, so he subsided again. Green eyes regarded him steadily, and his stomach lurched. He saw a mixture of concern and pain, and couldn't think why DiNozzo would look at him that way. He fended it off. "When d'ya find out Neville drove an Impala?"

"Yesterday. Spoke to him through MTAC." He looked at his former boss seriously. "Gibbs, I'll tell you what I've learned, but wait until you've told me what you know. I don't want to feed you memories that might not be accurate. The director gave me this case with orders to prove conclusively to everyone out there that you didn't have anything to do with the irregularities."

Gibbs nodded gravely; he couldn't relate this DiNozzo to anything he could remember, which was zilch anyway. His thoughts wandered away momentarily; he remembered Jenny – the making love bits at least; and while he was in Mexico he'd remembered things about Paris... mostly the making love bits again... sure couldn't remember when or how or why the woman who'd been his probie had been made Director.

Ziva... well, he wouldn't forget that – and it didn't bother him a bit that Haswari's blood still stained his basement floor. He owed her, he knew that. She'd reminded him by headslapping him, but that was something else that didn't fit. The headslaps didn't go with Ziva... He dragged his attention back to the present, to the man who was patiently sitting waiting. His next words astonished him.

"When I've done that, and no-one can argue about it, you get the case back if you want it, and complete it yourself."

"I do?"

"Sure. If you want. I more or less know what's what, just need a very few more pieces to the puzzle."

"And you think I've got them?" He couldn't help that derision creeping into his tone again, and he wondered why he took such a perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of the younger man; until he remembered how he'd realised DiNozzo was going forward while he went back. C'mon, how was that DiNozzo's fault?

This time the green eyes glared, and Gibbs was aware of more than the probie's mere presence in the room for the first time. She stiffened and looked towards her boss, and her body language shifted very subtly from efficient to calming. DiNozzo clearly caught the look, because he _did_ calm, and simply said, "I thought we'd already settled that?"

Tony, for his part, appreciated that glance, and at the same time, mourned the days when he and Gibbs had had effortless, wordless conversations. Gibbs had been better at them than spoken ones. God, this was so hard... "So... you'd seen the injuries. What happened next?"

"Steve... Sam... Stan Burley... all those young Marines were running up the road towards us... Burley rounded them all up, and herded them back where they'd come from. I checked that Ducky didn't need me any more, there were LEOs on guard, they'd already put tape out. Went back to the restaurant and took statements. I got the footage from their one security camera, but it only covered half the parking lot. It didn't even damn point in the right direction to cover the part of the street we wanted – ya wonder why they bother. I went out and noticed one empty space in a full lot; it wasn't covered by the camera. There was evidence of a small oil leak, looked like new oil, so it could just have been run-off from a freshly worked on engine. There was a tissue near the back of the slot, as if someone'd dropped it when they'd gone to the trunk of the vehicle."

"Really?" DiNozzo's eyebrows went up. "You didn't mention that – you said you'd found the tissue and the oil, but not the position."

"Didn't seem significant – I took a photo with a marker before I removed it later. Why?"

"You'd say the tissue and the vehicle were connected?"

"No way of telling. I took it as evidence cuz it was better than _not_ taking it."

DiNozzo nodded. "The lab confirmed the oil was new." He held back on the significance of that for a moment, and picked up one particular document. "I've got your map of the lot, with the empty slot marked, and the range of the camera. Sam Neville's car was here – you've marked it – all the others as well – Melanie came in a taxi, you checked that. All the others are accounted for, Crawford and Lishman both got a lift from Neville, all the other women came in Heather's car. Iltaf came by himself and Carmody walked."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "So?"

He wondered if he needed to ask, and then wondered why he was wondering.

"Wait up... one more thing – Neville senior." Tony paused, going over the many ways he'd thought of broaching the subject. When Gibbs had known Hilliard Neville, his girls had been alive. "Did you get on well with him?"

"No. Man was an ass. Why?" Tony caught his glance and held it; no way would he chicken out of this. He said very levelly, "I had three different people all point to a very bad relationship with his son. Poor opinion of him. Any feelings on that?"

"DiNozzo, the kid was 'bout seven when I knew his father."

"Yeah... I understand. What did you think of Sam Neville when you met him that night. Did you realise who he was?"

"Soon as I saw his second name was Hilliard. Didn't mention it though – wasn't goin' to say 'hey, served with your father – he was a jerk. Used to call you little bastard'." The probie, who'd stayed resolutely silent so far, smothered a distressed gasp. "Thought the kid had grown up pretty good in spite of it. What've I said?"

"You've said 'the kid'. As if you knew him." He waited, as Gibbs' brow furrowed.

The older man nodded slowly. "Once," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I saw him once, a farewell party on someone's back lot at Quantico. The kid was with his nanny all day, parents never paid him any attention at all. Really nice kid too – he and Kelly... kinda took to each other... she was a good judge of character. She asked him why his Mommy and Daddy didn't speak to him, or to each other, and I'd never noticed it until Kel did..."

"D'you remember what he said?"

"Yeah..." Gibbs said. "Never gave it another thought until now." He raised troubled eyes to the other man's. "He said, 'He says he's not my daddy. Mommy doesn't like him... but it's all right, he's not there very often.' Shan was disgusted. Hell,so was I. Kelly said that was terrible, and he said it wasn't, because he'd got Shellee. She said Shirley? He said no, Shir-LEE, and showed her how to put the emphasis on the second part. He pointed to his nanny, who was just hovering in the background. Seemed to be making sure he was safe without spoiling his fun. Cared more about him than his parents did."

"Shir_lee_," Alex said slowly. "Sounds as if she'd do anything for the child she loved more than his parents did... like get a job at NCIS because father said so, and remove evidence. If the time scale's right, that's it."

"But..." Gibbs said, "Sam Neville didn't do it, you said."

"Father didn't believe that," Alex told him. The two cold-case agents explained what Sam had said. Tony poured more coffee, not sure whether feeding Gibbs addiction would make him feel better, or make the headache worse.

He looked at his notes. "Shirlee joined NCIS two weeks after the hit-and-run," he said. "We'll ask HR she was recommended by anyone."

"Daddy Neville sees the broken indicator on his son's car, and jumps to the wrong conclusion," Alex said. "Gets rid of the Impala, makes son's old nanny get rid of the evidence. Shirlee's been difficult to trace so far."

"McGee can do that," Gibbs told her. "Ya wanna fill me in now? Why was the new oil important?"

"Confirms Carmody lied. We know where Heather McKellar's car was parked, and Neville's, and his was the same oil." He gave Gibbs the promised run-down, and was happy to see the Marine was genuinely interested. When he'd got him up to date, Tony asked, "Can McGee also find out how Sheena Fothergill's AWOL status disappeared? We haven't found her yet. She disappeared right afterwards," he added in response to Gibbs' enquiring look. "May or may not be significant."

He observed the lines of strain around the Marine's eyes, and was just about to ask if he wanted to quit, as they had everything, when the older man said, "So, Carmody killed Lishman?"

DiNozzo actually smiled at him. "You agree?"

"Well, yeah! 'Less it was a random careless driver, the one who 'walked' to the restaurant... who reported that 'someone' had run his friend down. His car... missing from its slot... we didn't look for it because he said he'd walked – wonder what he did with it afterwards?"

Tony nodded, and Gibbs growled irritably again. "Dammit, DiNozzo – " he was aware that his voice was rising, but again he was hit by that 'don't give a damn' feeling. "Why are ya prattin' about, then? If you already knew it all, why'd ya bring me in?"

The younger man didn't yell back, he just looked tired. "I didn't, did I? Didn't know about Shirlee... and now we know why Sam's father doesn't like him. I wonder if it's true? Anyhoos, thought you might like – never mind. The tissue was the clincher – Sam Neville said Eddie sneezed all over him as he went out. Lurked behind his car, waiting for Lishman to come out, got in the vehicle and followed him. Still no proof without a confession, but I'm kind of hoping Dr. Doolittle can help us there." Alex looked at him reprovingly.

"So where _is_ Carmody?"

"No idea yet, but his unit musters at Quantico at the end of the week. I'd like to get him before then though... Jenny's got Lishman's father visiting her tomorrow, and I'd like her to have good news to tell him. Sides, I need to know about Fothergill. Which of our two fine Marines is responsible for her disappearance, and what's happened to her."

Gibbs got up abruptly; he'd hardly listened properly since Quantico had been mentioned again. His mind was back to a bright green lawn, Marine wives and children in their best summer clothes, the bright warpaint of families fighting the grief of coming separation. For him, it had been forever. "Your case. You deal. Ya can have McGee and Ziva," he snarled ungraciously, and left the room without explanation.

Tony stood looking at the closed door for a long time, shoulders slumped, despair hugging him like a grey shroud. Finally, after busying herself replacing documents in folders, and putting used coffee cups on a tray in the corner for the janitorial staff, Alex came over and squeezed his elbow.

"Come on, Tiger," she said encouragingly. "Let's start with the worst crime. We need to find Carmody."

He regarded her mournfully. "Can't help worrying about him. I thought we were getting somewhere – it's the main reason I wanted to talk to him... get him interested. Ahh, you're right. Carmody."

NCISNCISNCIS

He hadn't liked the disappointment swimming in the younger man's eyes. He didn't know why it should concern him... but the guy had been trying to help him, he could see that. He tried to remember pre-explosion, and how things were then, what it had been like between him and his Senior Field Agent, and just as it always did when he tried to reach through the fog, the headache surged up. He found himself standing outside Autopsy, and forced himself not to turn round and flee. The door sensor caught him anyway, and Ducky looked round as it swished open.

"Jethro..."

"OK, Ducky, ya want me to see someone. Make me an appointment. Now."

NCISNCISNCIS

Dr. Dooley smiled placidly at his audience of two, and waved a hand expansively at the box lids that were now stacked up ready to go back to their basement home. "I'd probably have just run an eye over them all and come up with the same conclusion," he said, but I did it scientifically. Lawyers like that." He flipped a two-hundred-dollar micrometer up in the air, and caught it behind his back, and Alex was relieved to see the beginning of a smile on her Boss's face. "The Box hadn't sat in its place more than a week or so – less than a month, certainly, before it was moved again."

Robbie directed their attention to The Box, and switched the lights on again. Politely, he handed the lens to Alex first, and used the end of a microscope probe to point something out. Caught in a fold of the stiff cardboard was - "A hair!" Alex exclaimed.

Tony looked next. "Blonde," he said. "Female?"

"Oh yes indeed," Robbie said happily.

"How can you tell that?" Alex protested. "You guys, and blondes..."

"Because, fair lady," Robbie bowed exaggeratedly, "I left that one in place for you to see where I'd found it. I've retrieved two others." He went serious. "Both have the roots intact. I've already ascertained that they're from the same person; the use of a lightning agent suggests female... and I'll know whether I'm making assumptions or not before too long, because we'll have -"

"DNA," Tony finished.

"I have more," Robbie said, holding up a finger, and Tony thought of Abby and kept his face under control. "Two mores, in fact. First more is this." He indicated a microscope, and this time Tony looked first.

"It's a bit of the missing indicator glass," he said in surprise.

"You're right," Robbie said. "It was stuck in that crevasse, with the hair. I have to consult a database, but so far I'd say not American, probably Japanese. There's a minute amount of blood, although so deteriorated there'll be no DNA from that I'm afraid. But we know the car hit something that bled... seven years later it's a very tall order to find the car, but if your suspect owned a Japanese one at the time, this'll help."

Tony smiled. "You said there's a second more," he reminded him.

"Come back to The Box..." Robbie beckoned, picking up the probe again. "D'you see here? And here?" He pointed to several more or less circular marks in the cardboard bottom of The Box.

"You've lifted one," Tony said. "Do you know what they are?"

"Yes," Robbie said. "Whoever took the evidence was crying at the time."

"Coerced into committing a criminal offence," Alex said. "that she'd signed a declaration to swear that she wouldn't do. It's not surprising that she was crying."

"And we'll still have to arrest her," Tony said grimly, then managed a smile. "Nice work, Robbie. Let us know if that database turns up anything.

"Oh, it will. I'll be in touch."

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony strode into the squad room so fast Alex was almost running to keep up with him. "Hey," she hissed, "you might be able to lope, I can only scuttle!"

"Sorry!"

As they got to their desks, Tim got up immediately, and came round the end of the partition. Ziva followed more reluctantly.

"Tony! D'you know what's happening? Gibbs rang about half an hour ago. He said he was taking the rest of the day off, and – I quote, 'you belong to DiNozzo until I get back'."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't expecting him to make it that easy," he muttered almost to himself. "He didn't have a good morning, Tim. He had to remember almost the last time he saw his family. Guess he's gone home to rest. I hope he has..." He clapped his hands together. "Right, that cold case that suddenly became hot again... we've a lot to do in a short time. Find an AWOL Marine, and how her case disappeared, an ex Baggy Bunny, a Japanese car, a Marine murder suspect who's on leave..."

Tim beckoned and headed back to the bull pen. "Come on... you two can use my old desk," he went over to it and began booting up equipment that had stood idle for a while. Tony was glad that official SFA or not, Tim had moved to_ his _old desk; he had no desire to sit there again. "If you need another computer we can use Gibbs's. Who d'you want to do which job?"

He saw Tony's rather rueful smile, and the way that Ziva was standing stiffly, almost as if she were awaiting orders. "I know," he added quietly. "Like old times, but not."

"Yeah, just like that," Tony agreed sadly. "But hey, we've got some dirtbags to catch, who think they've got away with it – and we're going to do it today!"

TBC

**AN: Earthdragon, another thoughtful observation from you – I'm sure others have thought of it too... why don't they say Dr. Sciuto? Surely she must have a doctorate? At least one...**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Heartfelt congratulations to Inchwormsrule on the birth of Holly Louise – thank you so much for the pic, Inchy, she really is the most beautiful baby! **

**Thank you to all the helpful reviewers who weren't signed in. **

**I messaged with Technophobia several times, thanking her for her support, but saying that the language and tone she used was inflammatory, and she apologised and told me she'd already tried to take the review down, but found it couldn't be done. **

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 12

"Special Agent Gibbs?" The man in late middle-age approaching Gibbs with outstretched hand wore expensive nut-brown Harris Tweed plus-fours, with a matching flat cap which his other hand was in the act of removing, revealing thinning mid-brown hair. His thick golfing stockings and 'Tattersall' patterned cashmere sweater also matched each other, in a soft pale green, and his shoes were fine traditional white brogues with cut black leather tongues, and tasselled laces. He was an absolute picture of elegance, for all that he wasn't much taller than Ducky, and walked with a slight roll to his gait.

A casual observer might have been convinced he was, or had been a sailor; they'd have been completely wrong. He'd never been near anything ocean-going in his life. Gibbs wasn't a casual observer; he knew enough ageing former Marines like himself, to know arthritis of the left hip when he saw it. The shorter man's hazel eyes twinkled as he shook hands. "So, what is it about you, that's so important Doctor Mallard requires me to miss my day's golf for it?"

NCISNCISNCIS

They knew where Eddie Carmody was – enjoying sun and sand with his friends on the California coast. Ziva had found him through his credit card activity; Sergeant Carmody was having a great time. She had had Long Beach LEOs confirm his location without alerting him; he was booked on a flight into Ronald Reagan tomorrow night. He'd be met. In the mean time she was pulling up every scrap of information she could find on him from anywhere. This wasn't her forte, she didn't enjoy it, but she wasn't going to do less than her best.

Tim was having more difficulty with Shirlee, but he'd get there... his musings were interrupted by a sudden derisive snort from Alex, where she sat alone at his old desk. Tony had dashed upstairs to bring the Director up to date, but Tim and Ziva both looked up to see what had got the younger agent's attention. She looked up. "Tell me," she purred, "what does the name 'Shalimar Glow' suggest to you?"

"A shade of lipstick," Ziva said promptly. She wasn't too Mossad to wear the stuff sometimes, but there were shades she wouldn't buy because the names were so silly. "No? You do not mean it is a _person's _name?"

Alex kept up the purr. "Oh, but I do..."

"Oh," Ziva said, as light dawned. " A pie! No... a - a tart! That is the word, yes?"

Alex laughed. "Oh, I'm sure _she_ thinks of herself as a couple of steps up from that... but yeah, you got it." She returned to purring. "_Miss_ Shalimar Glow is co-proprietress of an escort agency – just across the river in Arlington, not so far from the Pentagon. What a nerve! She must be certain she'll never be caught..."

"She is Sheena Fothergill?"

"According to AFIS."

Ziva furrowed her brow, all reserve and animosity towards Tony's probie suspended as she concentrated on the case. "So... her fingerprints came from police records?" Alex nodded, something she'd learned from Tony. Could be a rule of his? If someone's thinking, don't interrupt. "You said she was not on the UA list because she had been removed, or never put there, so there was nothing to relate Miss Glow," she did air quotes that were as disdainful as Alex's had been, "to a missing Marine. As you say, she must have tremendous confidence... she must _know_ that the list was altered."

Alex brought up Sheena's official Marine photograph, and put it on the big screen: a girl whose model girl looks the tightly scraped back brown hair and rigid posture totally failed to disguise. Alongside it she put the police mug-shot of Miss Glow, and then the escort agency's official photo. That showed a bottle-blonde, with a cleavage, a coy pose and a come-hither look, the beauty coarsened somewhat after seven years of what must have been a risky life-style. The police portrait, needless to say, which gave her real name as Sheena Deacon, was as unflattering as these things usually are. Miss Glow's eyes stared from a dead white complexion in a way that suggested she was about to go for the photographer's jugular. But then, Tim reflected, he'd never seen a police shot that made the person look sane.

He looked thoughtfully at the three pictures, and found himself trying to construct in his mind the progression of a life that had led Sheena Fothergill first into the marines, and then out again to this. He wondered if he were being heartless when he saw a character in a future book; then shuddered inside himself. If his colleagues ever got wind of Thom E Gemcity... Alex broke into his thoughts.

"I wonder what sort of pillow talk her girls hear?"

Ziva frowned. "Ah, you are thinking clients from the Pentagon?"

"Well, yes. It's close by. I don't know how that matters to us, it was just a thought. Should we pick her up, d'you think?"

"Yeah," Tony's voice came from the mezzanine. "Alex, you and McGee go – but make sure she's there before you go storming in." They both gave him a 'we weren't born yesterday' glare as he skipped down the stairs.

"Not me, Tony?" There was mild accusation in Ziva's voice.

"No, Zi. The Director would like a word. She says go on up." Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Talk to _her_," he said gently. "I'm going to talk to Robbie about DNA; see if we can't find out the truth about the Nevilles. Keep me posted."

Tim paused on his way to the elevator. He frowned. "Assuming both Nevilles are in the DNA registry at Rockville, d'you think either of them have tried to find out before?"

"I've no idea," Tony replied thoughtfully, "_and_ I've no idea if it has anything to do with the case. I just think we need to know, if we can. Go on..." he batted his eyelids. "Bring in Miss Glow."

NCISNCISNCIS

"Jenny..."

"Come in, Ziva. Coffee?"

"Thank you." Ziva kept the surprise off her face; if there was time to drink coffee it would be a longer chat than she'd expected. She sat, accepted the china beaker, and waited.

"You've been Liaison Officer here for a year now, and during that time, most of your work has been as an investigator with the MCRT."

"Yes..." Ziva said, wondering where this was going.

"Are you happy doing this sort of work?"

"It... is different from anything I have ever done before; I have had to learn quickly, Gibbs expects that. Yes, I have been happy doing this work."

Jenny's elegant eyebrows went up. "Have been?"

"It has been different since Gibbs left, more still since he returned and Tony left. Gibbs is different."

Jenny thought of the brief phone-call she'd received from Ducky earlier that morning, and nodded. "I don't think it'll go back to being the same, Ziva. Does that bother you?" She watched the other woman, her friend, closely, and Ziva realised she was required not to... fence? Hedge! Jenny wanted the truth.

"Of course. Gibbs is unhappy, Tony is unhappy. Tim and I are struggling to carry out our duties." The fear that she'd firmly pushed to the back of her mind broke loose again; Jenny wanted the truth from her, and she burst out, "I do not know if our jobs will go on!"

"I'm not packing you off back to Israel, Ziva."

The younger woman looked startled. "How did you know – has Tony spoken to you? He has not said anything to me!"

"He said that in your position he'd be anxious, and he didn't have any answers for you. That's my job, and I'm telling you. You don't have to go home unless you want to."

"Thank you." Ziva considered Jenny's words in silence for a while, sipping her coffee. "No..." she said finally. "I am learning here. I do not believe I am ready to go... home. Jenny – does my father want me to go back?"

Jenny shook her head. "No, Ziva. But we have another position in mind, that I'd like you to think about. I want you to remain as our Liaison Officer, but on an inter-agency anti-terrorism advice and response team, based at the Pentagon Centre. Based... but you'd hardly be there. You'd be travelling all over the USA, wherever you were needed. There's already a team in existence, based at Langley; it can't cope with all the demands on it."

"Langley?" Ziva said doubtfully. "This is CIA led?"

Jenny smiled. Mossad and The Agency were uneasy bedfellows at the best of times. "No; Homeland Security; my predecessor here, Tom Morrow's in charge. Would you like some time to think about it? Would you like to know something about the other team members? I can find out."

Ziva shrugged. "If I am not with Gibbs and McGee any more, then it hardly matters – I must learn to work with new colleagues. I have done it before many times."

Jenny shook her head regretfully. "I know you've always hoped for something more permanent in the end, Ziva. It's not your fault things have changed... I think the situation will resolve itself in a few days, but I can't tell how that will be." She sighed. "Let me know on Friday. If you want to stay here I shan't force you to go, but do give it serious consideration."

Ziva took her last mouthful of coffee slowly, and set the beaker down. "I will, Jenny." She paused in the doorway. "Does anyone else know of this?"

"You mean did I tell Tony? No, of course not. I wouldn't discuss it with anyone else first."

Ziva nodded a rueful apology, and left.

When she got back to her desk there was no-one else around, and she sat down quietly. Information had come up on her screen, and she read it five times without taking a word in. She did not know what to think. So Jenny had known, because _Tony_ had told her, that she was uneasy about her position in the USA. That was strange, because now that unease was pinned down, and disposed of, she realised she hadn't known herself what a huge part it was of the unsettled feeling she was living with, yet Tony had been aware of it.

Random thoughts tumbled over each other; Ari... Gibbs then and Gibbs now. Her father, and the life he had raised her for. The year she had spent here... she tried to identify why she wanted more of it... the freedom to make her own decisions... she was being allowed to make this one, not simply being reassigned. The freedom not to kill to order... Ari had been the last one, and nobody knew that. That was something to fear; her father had never said that he would tell that secret, but she didn't doubt that he would if it ever suited him, and when that happened her life on Gibbs' team would be over.

Maybe life on a new team, one that utilised her gifts, was the answer; she had seen little of America yet, and wanted to know more. That would not happen on Gibbs' team.

Gibbs' team... no longer existed anyway, not the way she had known it; and as much as she might look for signs that Tony would cave and return to it, he was showing none. Was she to desert Gibbs too? Not fair; Tony had gone to see Gibbs. She cared for him, but she had not known what to do, so she had gone running. Tony had been offered Rota, but his desk was the other side of that partition.

As to his feelings for her, whatever they may be... did she see her future as giving up her independence to be the wife of an American man? _Harah! _Had she not just admitted that in Israel she _had_ no independence? While she was here she would cling to it. She sighed; she had never loved any man enough to be a half of two, and not herself. Would she ever? Were they all like her father under the skin? She pushed everything aside; she had until Friday, and she would see what the week would bring.

Tony stood by the elevator watching her, poised to walk as if he'd never stopped if her eyes began to shift from the screen she clearly wasn't seeing. Finally, she reached for her mouse, so he stepped forward. He was curious, of course he was, to know what Jenny had said to her, but as long as it was 'we're not sending you home', and the Director had assured him it would be, that was all he needed to know. He walked round to the bull pen.

"Hey, found anything?"

Ziva looked up with a smile that still had some strain in it. "One thing. I am amazed that such things can be discovered from records, although I should not be. Sergeant Carmody, Private Carmody seven years ago, at the time of Dane Lishman's death, owned a Toyota Land Cruiser. Here is the number. I can find no record of his ever disposing of the vehicle, but on his return from the tour of duty he was about to embark on that day, he bought a GMC, and has changed his car twice since then."

"That's good work, Zi. I don't have any good ideas yet on how to find out what became of that Toyota – heck, I haven't any ideas at all... but I'd sure _like _to find it if it still exists, before we bring him in." He looked at her closely. "So, d'you feel any better? I asked Jenny to put your mind at ease if she could. You staying in the US of A?"

"How did you know, Tony?"

"I didn't... just tried to put myself in your position. Figured you kind of liked it here..." He tailed off. He wasn't going to ask a second time if she didn't want to tell him.

"Yes," she said finally. He was still looking out for her, it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge it. "I was worried. But Jenny does not intend to send me home. Thank you, Tony."

He smiled. "That's good then..." he started to head for Tim's old desk, but turned back for a moment. "Next time... you have a problem, _ask_. Me, Jenny," he sighed, "Gibbs, even... why go on worrying if you don't have to?"

"I will do that." She was silent for a moment, hoping he could not read her face. Considering his capacity for wanting to know other people's business, she was very surprised that he hadn't wanted to know if she and Jenny had talked about anything else, but he clearly wasn't going to ask, so she didn't have to have the evasion ready. He was different... everything was different. "What did Robbie have to say about the DNA?" she asked, remembering what Tony had gone down to the lab for.

He dropped into his chair and swung it round, and this time he wasn't just smiling. His grin was huge. "Young Doctor Doolittle will go far in life... he'd already set the program running, without being asked. We should have the results in a couple of hours." His face clouded. "I mean, it's the sort of thing Abby'd know to do... didn't expect a nipper to think of it."

"He is going to San Diego? For sure? Abby _will_ be back?"

"Oh, yeah. Abby'll be back. Don't know what she'll find though," he added darkly, almost to himself.

"You are worried about Gibbs."

"Yeah, Zi, I am."

NCISNCISNCIS

"Well, Gibbs..." The two men were meeting in the stylish lobby of the exclusive clinic for the second time that day. The golfing clothes had disappeared, replaced by casual slacks and a pale blue sweater over a white open necked shirt.

"Abe." They'd agreed on that form of address when they'd first met; Doctor Abraham Levine wasn't going to say 'Special Agent Gibbs' all the time, and 'Doc' felt a bit impersonal to Gibbs. Abe led his patient over to the up-market coffee machine against one wall.

"Aren't ya goin' to tell me I can't have the stuff, Abe?"

The distinguished medic poured him a large mug and handed it to him. "At this stage of your life? I don't think so, Gibbs. What good would depriving you do? I'm not a cruel man, surely Ducky would have told you?" Again, the wise hazel eyes twinkled as he poured hot water over an Earl Grey tea bag, and then waved an expansive hand at a doorway that led out onto a terrace.

Once outside, the two men sat in comfortable chairs with a small coffee table beside them, and a view of a golf course within walking distance, the city and the Potomac further away.

"So, how are you feeling?"

Gibbs snorted. "Well, Abe... everyone's been real kind... as they prodded and poked and jabbed... they smiled and they were real polite. They've studied my blood, studied my heart, studied my brain... they've even studied my bodily effluents... and I suspect the only reason I'm talkin' so much is because whatever they gave me for the MRI's still in control of my mouth!"

Abe smiled. "It's quite possible. Ducky did tell me you weren't a talkative man. But the MRI told me a good deal about your past, as well as your present. You took _some_ damage as a Marine, Gibbs, but apart from the knee, which is as good as it'll get without a replacement, it all healed very well. You're in remarkably good shape for a man of your age, you've not let yourself go at all."

"So... there's nothing wrong with me?"

"Nothing at all. You're in excellent health, Gibbs."

"Then... what about the headache? It's all made up? I'm a basket case?"

"Gibbs, even if I hadn't heard about you from my good friend Doctor Mallard, I'd have said the moment I met you that whatever else you are, you're not mentally ill."

Gibbs looked bewildered, and took a hefty swig of his coffee. "What, then? What do we do now?"

Doctor Levine pointed over towards the golf clubhouse. "Well, we finish our drinks, and then we go and have lunch."

For a moment Gibbs wondered if the MRI had shot him through some strange portal to a weird new world, but he guessed DiNozzo would know more about that sort of thing. He acknowledged the odd pang of guilt that thinking of the younger man gave him, but the headache that usually gripped him when he tried to reach for his memories, didn't really happen. There was something so totally sane, in a sideways kind of way, about Abe Levine that he was happy to go along with whatever the doctor said. When had he ever felt like that before? He looked down at his mug, and Abe chuckled.

"There's nothing in your coffee, Gibbs," he said.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: OK, this is where I post and then go and hide behind the sofa...**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 13

"_Really_? No, I don't mean I don't believe you... just wasn't what I expected to hear. Never assume... well, would you have expected that? Any more? He did? Oh, this gets weirder. OK, I – sorry, what? No kidding. You'll go far, young Robson. Yeah, of _course_ it helps."

"What helps?" Tim asked, as he hurried into the bull pen.

"Two bits of info from Robbie," Tony told him, looking over at Ziva to include her. "The tiny piece of indicator lens came from a Toyota, don't ask how he can tell... and Ziva's found the Land Cruiser Carmody had at the time. Where's Alex?"

"Sitting with Miss Glow... who's pretty hard nosed, I have to say. She hasn't said anything yet." He held up a hand. "Because we haven't asked her. Thought it might be best to see what else you'd found out first. That's a big, beefy machine for a young marine to have been running," he went on speculatively. "Expensive, thirsty on gas, macho..."

"It was six years old," Ziva told him, "he had owned it for a month. Still thirsty, still macho, but not _so _expensive." She filled him in on its mysterious disappearance.

Tim nodded his thanks. "What else?"

Tony looked puzzled. "Don't know what to think of this... Hilliard _is _Sam's father." There were surprised murmurs from both his listeners. "And Sam approached the registry asking for a printout of his own DNA, three months ago. Beats me." He thought for a moment. "Sergeant Sam's at Kamp Panzer, in Germany. Need to talk to him again." He picked up his desk phone, and began to talk urgently to MTAC. "They'll get him," he said when he put the phone down. "He might say none of our business, but we gotta ask. In the mean time, Miss Glow..."

NCISNCISNCIS

Gibbs pushed his plate away, and let out a long, contented breath. "Got to hand it to you, Abe, you know how to pick a place to eat."

The doctor beamed. "My Momma wrote a Jewish recipe book that's on its second edition," he said cheerfully. "We did well as children – it's a wonder I don't weigh two hundred and eighty pounds. Sure, I appreciate good food... I'm glad you approve."

"So... is this where you start asking me all my deepest secrets?"

"Gibbs, you don't _have_ to tell me diddley-squat," Abe told him just as cheerfully.

_They walked along the edge of the golf course, Gibbs adjusting his pace to the shorter man and his bad hip. _

"_You know, Donald and I talked for about an hour, when he rang to ask me to see you, Gibbs. He can be... loquacious."_

"_He asked if it was OK to talk about me – I told him, hell yeah, it's easier than doing it myself," Gibbs said. "Ya mean he found enough to say about me to fill an hour – or am I flattering myself?"_

"_I don't think you're the type, Gibbs. He had a lot to say, all stemming from his concern for you." Abe gave that chuckle Gibbs was getting used to. "He left me with more questions than answers... are you really building a boat in your basement?"_

"_Didn't you believe him?"_

"_Well, you've known Ducky a long time – do you believe every word of every one of those salutary tales he's so fond of telling?"_

"_Ya got me." He held back from telling Abe that most of that long time was a complete blank to him. Maybe later... "How long have you known Ducky?"_

_Again, Abe let out that warm, life-loving laugh. "About six years – we've been friends for four. I was one of his teachers."_

_Gibbs looked at him curiously, then the penny dropped,as Ducky would have said. "The degree he's just completed. You taught him..." He put two and two together. "He's sent me to a **crim psych**?" he said in outrage... and then, to his complete surprise, he suddenly found himself laughing as genuinely as his companion._

Why that had made Gibbs relax and ease his permanently defensive view of life, he didn't know. What he did know was that he could speak the truth or not bother to speak at all; neither lies nor evasions would fool or satisfy Abe Levine. He also knew that he was safe with the shrewd doctor; anything he said, any feelings revealed, wouldn't be turned back against him. He still didn't know how he'd fare even trying to speak them, it was so against his nature; but he'd sworn to himself that he would, because he couldn't contemplate the lonely, bitter and hateful alternative that was threatening to engulf him.

He wished he could remember what it was that had pulled him back from all that the first time; if that couldn't do it now, he didn't think anything would. Ducky was a huge part of it... Jenny... he just felt mad at her most of the time, but she'd certainly meant something special to him once... Ziva – he knew what he owed her, but hardly remembered why. He'd almost overlooked McGee – hell, he tried to most of the time because he couldn't understand a damn word the man said... but he'd presumably picked him for the team, and it wasn't as if he was incompetent, or not easy to get on with. Nice guy... DiNozzo... who told him where to get off, but was still _there_... what was it about DiNozzo – he couldn't stand to be within a hundred yards of him, but he was still there...

"Let it go," Abe had said sternly. "Haven't you already learned that trying to force it doesn't work?"

Gibbs had nodded reluctantly, rubbing at his temples. "But why can't I remember, Abe? And why does it hurt when I goddamn try?"

They'd almost reached the splendid glass doors of the golf club by now, and Abe paused. "Broadly speaking, PTSD." Gibbs' jaw dropped, and he looked at him incredulously, but he said nothing. "But you know that covers a multitude of sins, as they say. We'll know more soon, and I _will_ help you, Gibbs. Now come inside – I promise you you'll enjoy the food here." And he had done.

NCISNCISNCIS

Leaving a message with MTAC to text him when they reached Sergeant Neville, Tony headed to Interrogation 1 with Ziva and Tim. As they entered the observation room, Tony followed them, intending only to take a quick look at the prisoner and study her body language. He stiffened as he realised Alex had already begun questioning her. Well, he hadn't told her not to start without him, he hadn't called her at all – but it wasn't really what he expected of her.

"How long ago did they start?" he asked the tech, carefully keeping any anger out of his voice.

"Nine minutes, Tony. Three minutes after they sat down. The lady's had a lot to say."

Tony nodded, went out quietly, and put his head round the next door. "Alex, step out a minute?"

He observed that Sheena had looked pleased when the door opened, and then subsided again in disappointment.

"Alex," he said very softly, "what made you start without me?"

His probie looked apologetic, but not guilty. "Yeah... sorry, Boss... I felt I had to. A gut feeling. She wasn't scared, wasn't anxious – like she should have been with her business and her freedom about to go down the pan. She kept looking at the door, and looking impatient, you know? As if she was expecting someone to come through it and deal with me... so I asked her who she was expecting..."

"_I won't be here long. I have... protectors."_

"Ah. Over your Pentagon pillow talk?"

_Miss Glow looked startled, then recovered herself. "Which is not for your ears."_

"_That's fine, I'm not remotely interested in it."_

_Miss Glow spread beautifully manicured hands. "Then what the -" _"I make a habit of not swearing, Tony, so I won't forget and do it in front of Jaz."

"Quite right too. What next?"

"_-am I doing here?"_

"_Dane Lishman."_

"I went for it, Tony. I thought if whoever it was had enough muscle they could take her away and we'd get nothing."

"It's OK. You did good." He tapped her cheek. "I should have trusted you, OK?"

"She told me that night had nearly ruined everything, she needed to disappear quietly, and this was drawing attention to her. I said disappear from what, and she wouldn't say._ But,_ she said she knew Eddie Carmody hadn't walked there, and she told him so. He went ape at her, said he'd kill her if she told anyone, so she batted her eyelids at him, and said 'oh, Eddie, you wouldn't hurt me.' He told her he'd killed Dane accidentally, he only meant to scare him, but the guy was a bit drunk – he wasn't a big drinker, and it got to him, and he'd stepped in front of him when he drove too close."

"Does she know anything about what happened to the car?"

She looked at him severely. "I was getting to that, when you came in."

"Hey, now _I'm_ the bad guy?"

Alex grinned. "I _ should _have got a message to you, but - "

"Joking. Come on." They both went back into the room, and again, Shalimar looked disappointed.

"Your friend isn't here yet, Miss Glow," Tony said politely. "And anyone from The Agency who comes here has to go through the Director first, so they might be a while."

The woman's eyes widened in shock for the second time, then she raked her eyes over Tony in a way that made Ziva bridle slightly on the other side of the mirror. "I'm not saying anything about that."

He eased his big frame back in his chair, letting her know that she could look at him like that as much as she liked, it didn't change anything. "No problem. So, if you've got the Agency hovering like a nice shit-proof umbrella over your little business, I guess the small matter of AWOL Marine records is put to bed nicely." He glanced at the mirror with a grin – one less job for McGee. "All I want to know is what else Eddie said that night. Like, about his car."

She shrugged. "I figured he'd killed Dane with it, and I didn't want him to kill me right before I – never mind – I sweet-talked him – easy, all you have to do is tell him how macho he is – and asked him what he'd done with it, and offered to drive it somewhere and get rid of it for him. He said no need, he'd hidden it in plain sight... like in a lot round the corner somewhere, and in the morning he'd take it to his friend Stevie's chop shop. I think that was Stevie Hawkins, he was one of our crowd. I don't know why you're worrying about the car – it'll be long gone by now."

Tony looked over at Alex. "Anything else you want to ask, Special Agent Dominguez?"

Alex shook her head. "No," she said easily, "I think we've gotten everything we need."

Tony stood up. "Then if you'll allow us, we'll show you out, Miss Glow, or to join your friend, whichever happens first." He stood politely aside for her to leave the room first. They'd barely stepped out into the corridor, when Jenny came round the corner, wearing a coldly polite expression, in the company of a distinguished looking white haired man.

"Special Agent DiNozzo," she said calmly, "this is Mr. Walter Hausmann, from Langley. I have orders from SecNav to hand Miss Glow," her mouth momentarily twisted as if she'd swallowed a whole pickle, "over to him."

"Oh, that's fine, Director," Tony said airily. "She's all yours, Mr. Hausmann."

Miss Glow said plaintively, "_Walter..._" hooked her arm through his, and teetered away with him without another word, followed by the security officer who'd accompanied them specifically to escort the CIA man and his charge from the building.

Jenny looked at Tony in exasperation. "I've just spent fifteen minutes of my life that I'll never get back fielding off that lubricious man," she protested, "and now I find you letting the suspect go? Explain."

Tony pushed open the observation room door, and again stepped aside, for Jenny and Alex to enter first. After doing exactly what the Director had demanded, to her and his temporary team, he said, "So, what did _you _learn, Director?" Jenny smiled thinly.

Sheena Fothergill really had wanted to become a Marine – until about twelve hours into basic training. She was there for the male Marines, not the hard work, and boy, _was _she for the male Marines... She caused havoc wherever she went – she enjoyed the chase, not the kill, and even better was the thought of two or more men fighting over her.

Her CO had grumbled to Walter Hausmann during a mutual friend's cocktail evening, and from such tiny seeds do great oaks grow... Sheena had been so happy to go UA and escape the eight years she'd signed up for, and the escort agency was just her thing. So was Walter, who had money and influence... "She doesn't seem to do any of the 'escorting' herself," Jenny said, making no attempt to hide the waspish tone in her voice. "She seems to be _Walter's _private popsie, and she's making a stack getting her girls to gather random dirt that may be useful to Langley one day."

"So much for Miss Glow, then," Tony said. "It's a pity she couldn't have given us the heads-up on Carmody seven years ago, but what's a dead Marine to the CIA? Well, we've got Eddie, he just doesn't know it yet. Now, for Colonel Hilliard P Neville, USMC retired..." He looked at his watch. "He'll keep. Late lunch, people. I'll stay though, wait for the word on Sam. Someone bring me something back?"

NCISNCISNCIS

The clubhouse, like the clinic, had a long, sheltered out-door seating area, where those who'd eaten, or those who just weren't energetic, could watch those who were, demonstrating their skill, or lack of it.

"I've got the best of all worlds," Abe said proudly. "I play off a six handicap, at a club where the food is legendary and the masseur works wonders for my hip – and I practise at a clinic not a hundred yards away, where I could get my hip fixed by friends I trust, if I wanted to take the time away from the golf!" A white coated steward brought a tall pot of coffee, smiled and went away again. "So... Gibbs... you've listened to me all through lunch, and let me drag you all over the place... your turn."

"My turn?"

"Let me start you off. When I said PTSD, you didn't believe a word of it."

Gibbs considered for a moment. "I didn't think it could be that simple... I thought it'd feel different."

"I did say it covered a multitude of sins... I might have labelled you clinically depressed if I was reading your notes; but I've talked to Ducky, and I've met you, so... no. And making that sort of a diagnosis without factoring in the amnesia would have been foolish."

"You saying the amnesia's making me depressed? Could be right." But he didn't feel certain.

"I _might_ have called it depression... give me a better word."

"Just one?" Gibbs asked bitterly. "I know I'm getting mad with everyone, I know they're losing patience – well, Jenny is, Ducky told me to my face, McGee and Ziva'll probably put in for transfers... Only one who keeps coming back is DiNozzo... dammit, he makes it easy to yell at him even though I can see it hurts... _he _seems to think he means something to me..."

"He does."

Gibbs took a long pull of the strong coffee. "I know I'm doin' it – and a voice inside says I should stop. Sounds like Shannon... You know the guy with an angel sitting on one shoulder, and a devil on the other? I no sooner think I'll get myself together, than the other shoulder says why bother? It's a comfort, and you don't care what people think."

The doctor said nothing, waiting patiently. Gibbs jerked a thumb at his left shoulder. Abe thought to himself, trust the Marine to be contrary – most people chose the right shoulder for the angel."'You should try to remember why that's wrong,'... and the minute I try, I get the headache." Another hefty swig of coffee. "You order this specially, Abe?"

Abe smiled. "I told you, I'm not a cruel man."

Gibbs gave a wry shrug. "The CAT scan said there's nothing wrong inside my head, right? So I'm _makin'_ the headache?" He leaned forwards and looked hard and accusingly into the other man's eyes. "I thought ya said I'm not mentally ill?" The wave of understanding and compassion he got back nearly knocked him out of his comfortable armchair.

"Ducky didn't choose me because I'm a crim-psych," he said after a while. "He chose me because he knew I could use well all the insight _he_ gave me, from his long friendship with you. He chose me because I have a particular talent for reading people. I suppose that helped me on my way to the calling I chose, but it's not something I can claim credit for. It was gifted to me at birth. Let me tell you what I read in you, Gibbs. I see a man whose heart is at odds with itself. I see a man who's suffering desperately, who wonders why he can't be strong enough to overcome it. He knows he has done before – he found a level at which he could function and live on, but he can't remember how. He feels that it might help if he could, but half of him doesn't want to, because he's afraid it _won't,_ and even more, what's fresh in his mind is his wife and child, and getting over them would be so disloyal he can't bear the thought."

Gibbs sat looking at his hands. Again, Abe waited with that infinite patience, giving the other man as much time as he needed to digest what he'd said. Eventually, the Marine raised his eyes, but still hadn't the words to reply. Abe asked gently, "Is any of that definitely not true?"

"No..." Gibbs' blue eyes were haunted. "I... Why could I do it then, and I can't now?"

"It was gradual then. You built a little at a time; found friendships. Now you're asking yourself to do it all at once."

Gibbs nodded, and somehow, finally, found the words he needed. "I loved them..." he didn't need to go into expansive detail, he knew Abe understood how much. "Things can't be the same... it's the second time I've found that out. I'm a Marine... we can handle anything... but I'm screaming inside like a five year old who's been told he can't have something... and doesn't rationalise why not – just goes on yelling and yelling... You said you'd help. What do I _do_, Abe?"

The doctor looked at him seriously. "I've already taken a lot of short-cuts to get to this point, Gibbs. Instead of taking weeks to get to know you, I've learned as much about you as I could in one day. Instead of taking the time for _you_ to get to know _me_, I've tried to make you see that even if you _don't _know me you can trust me. Now... there are no easy fixes, and Ducky says you're an impatient man by nature. There's one thing I can suggest, and it's not as drastic as it sounds, because you can change your mind at any time. And you don't have to take my advice anyway!"

Gibbs waited, forcing himself to stay in the chair and not jump up and bolt.

"You need something different. Completely different. Rest, peace, something interesting to do; no day-to-day dealing with the sort of violence that simply amplifies what you're feeling. A change of scenery, maybe."

"Abe, I did that – went to Mexico. Came back just as bad."

"Who did you go to? The man who helped you to get through it by recruiting you to NIS. The man who was there the first time. You spent four months reinforcing the grief, and – if Ducky's got it right here, because you haven't said – not thinking about the years in between, or your team."

"So, you're saying don't try to remember? Walk away?"

"I'm saying give yourself something new to do, to occupy your mind in a positive way, for as long as it takes. I don't know... Learn to fly. Join an environmental rescue project. Give yourself a break."

"You're saying... leave NCIS?"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: This could be difficult – the space bar on my keyboard is kaput and only works maybe one time in three, if you hit it dead centre, and it makes a noise like scraping nails down a blackboard... must go buy new keyboard tomorrow...**

**Two days later, got the new keyboard, posh navy-blue with gizmos... no excuse not to get on with it now, but oh boy, have I had trouble with the ol' Gibbs psyche!**

**Long to make up for late.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 14

Tony was uneasily aware that whatever transpired from it this interview was going to leave a decent young man very unhappy. He'd forewarned the sergeant's CO, and trusted that somewhere nearby he and maybe a close friend from the unit, were waiting to be there for Sam when he was done. He opted for pleasant, formal and polite.

"Staff Sergeant Neville, my apologies for calling you up a second time."

The Marine's smile was easy enough, but puzzled. "No problem, Sir. How can I help?"

Tony inhaled deeply. "Got an odd question for you... you can say go to hell if you like."

"Wouldn't do that, Sir, what's wrong?"

"Can we drop the 'sir'? Agent DiNozzo's fine. Sergeant, I want to ask you why you requested a copy of your DNA a few months ago?"

Sam Neville's jaw dropped. "How... how would you know about that? Why would you be interested?"

Tony looked at his feet for a moment, then said carefully, "You might prefer to talk about it in private."

Sam glanced behind him at the communications tech. "Ez gets to hear all sorts of things." Tony looked doubtful. The technician grinned, unoffended, as he picked up a set of headphones and jammed them on. As he began to tap his fingers in time to a beat, Neville squared his shoulders and looked back at Tony.

"All right, I'll tell you... then you'll explain, right? I had this idea about finding out if my father really is my father, or if I'm the bastard he's always said." He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I wouldn't dream of asking my mother – in all the years she's heard him say it, she's never bothered to comment one way or the other. I couldn't ask the registry for **his** DNA, but... sounds stupid... we were at my uncle's just before I deployed this last time, and he dropped a comb. It had some of his hair in it, so I took it. I wondered if... hell, Si- Agent DiNozzo... I didn't know who I'd take it to or when... but I'd just found out..."

"Sergeant..." The Marine looked at the floor. "Sergeant!You haven't done anything wrong. It's OK. What had you just found out?"

The younger man sighed and looked Tony straight in the eyes. "I'd just found out that we're expecting a baby, Callie and me... and I wanted to know if the old misery really is my kid's grandfather."

Tony nodded sadly. "Have you done anything about it?"

"No. Still not sure if I want to..." The Sergeant's eyes widened, and he lurched to his feet, leaning in towards the camera. "You know... you _know, _don't you! Why didn't you tell me yesterday? What's all this about? What's it got to do with Dane? Does _he_ still say I did it? Because I'm not his?"

"Sit back down, Sam." Something in Tony's voice must have struck a chord, or the use of his first name.

"Sorry." He sank slowly down and back into sharp focus.

"It's OK. Well, it's not, but it's not your fault."

The Marine shook his head. "Then who... what's going on, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Tony. OK, first thing is, you're not a bastard – not by blood or, what I hear, by character, right? Guess I don't know whether this is good or bad news, but he _is _your father, however much he's denied it all these years."

Tony expected the Marine to ask why, he would have done, but he looked resigned. "This is all to do with Dane, right? And my car... Please, Tony... this is just... just start at the beginning."

NCISNCISNCIS

"Well," Abe said levelly, "I suppose it's always best to start with the most extreme scenario first. I think we're trying to make you better, Gibbs, not chop your legs off."

"Hell, Abe, I went missing for four months, and Jen fiddled me back again. Ya think she'd let me go then come back a second time?"

"The mechanics of it are secondary," the doctor said airily. "We can sort them later; the thing is to get you to believe what I'm saying. You're mentally and emotionally exhausted – _you're_ the one who said being a bastard's a comfort and you don't want to stop, remember. As long as you can inflict on others what you're going through, it's that bit less painful."

"That really_ is _being a bastard," Gibbs said, not liking the feeling.

"Returning to your default setting - or never even getting off it – you _could _call it depression, bone-weariness, laziness, or any combination of them -"

"Never thought of myself as lazy before, Abe!" Sigh. "Or depressed."

"I don't suppose you ever were – lazy, I mean, it's not a Marine trait. But emotional weariness – brain fatigue – leads to physical exhaustion as well. And we're not going down the road of coming out and _calling_ it depression while there's a damn good chance of getting out of it without all the associated paraphernalia."

Gibbs grinned. "Thought you said Ducky was loquacious!"

"There's more than one reason we're friends. _You_ need to rest. And as far as I can see, Gibbs, and do remember this isn't my first day at the races, you won't rest from all the bad stuff unless you have some good stuff to occupy you."

"Good stuff... what about my boat building?"

"Anything new you can lurk in your basement and learn about that?"

"Ah." Pause. "Well, nobody can ever say they've learned everything there is to know about a subject, Abe!"

"You're hedging. I said something new. Challenging."

Right on cue, a golf ball crashed into the shrubbery about thirty feet away, startling a grackle that sat on the discreet netting that protected the watchers on the terrace.

"Like that poor soul... he's trying – he's taken up the challenge. He'll never find that ball again though..." He changed tack almost in mid sentence. "You signed up for a challenging life. As a Marine, as a Federal Agent. To protect and defend the innocent, to bring the guilty to justice... You took up the challenge whole-heartedly, and now life owes you something back. What have I said?"

Gibbs closed his eyes, and shook his head with a frown. "DiNozzo said that, not long after I got back. I heard him and McGee talking. Apparently, DiNozzo had been framed for murder, and McGee had, possibly, shot an undercover cop, I mean, I know it happened, but I can't recall the details... McGee added in what had happened to me and said it had been a bad year. DiNozzo said better for people who'd signed up, and been trained to deal, than Joe Public who wouldn't know what had hit him. I thought flippant, callous... why did I do that? Why do I think the worst all the time? You're right, Abe... I need to get something else going on in my head."

"Jethro," Abe said gently, leaning in towards him, and Gibbs flashed a startled look at him. "I said you were at odds with yourself. You can't live in the present and reject it at the same time. If you'd only wanted the past, you'd have stayed in Mexico, railing at fate that you couldn't have it back, and probably looking at life through the bottom of a beer bottle. Something brought you back, but you're still trying to deny it. I've told you why I think that is... you've not said I'm wrong. Take a little time away from both... keep your girls safe in your heart, but don't hang around in the bitter past... let go, a day at a time, and a peaceful heart will not only show you the way back to the present, but reveal what's good about it."

Mesmerised by the sound of Abe's voice, and the sharpness of the pain, regret and loss that his words brought welling to the surface, for a moment Gibbs could only think of the past, and of all things, a tear trickled down his cheek. _I don't cry, dammit!_ As he swiped it away, he heard again Abe's last words – _reveal what's good about it... _he'd never have made it back the last time if he hadn't found some sort of hope...

He smiled ruefully. "Don't know when I last had a peaceful heart, Abe." He couldn't have described in a word the look that flicked across the doctor's face, and he would have described himself as the least empathic person he knew, but he burst out in sudden understanding. "Aw, hell, doc... you lost someone. You _know_..."

Abe nodded gravely, but he smiled. "Alma. Means one who nourishes the soul... she fed mine for the forty-one years we were married. Brain the size of Texas, tongue like a whip, heart as big as the sea. She's with me every day, Jethro, and I wouldn't trade losing her for never having had her." He gripped Gibbs' arm and squeezed it. "You've heard them say grief's the price we pay for love. It's not a platitude, it's the truth, and I pay willingly for the love I had." He stood up, clearly ready to go. "Think about what I've said. You're my guest, you're very welcome to sit here in the sun all afternoon if you wish, watch the good, the bad and the hopeless go by – Seb will bring you more coffee if you'd like it."

Gibbs stood up to shake his hand. "Might just do that, Abe. Thanks." He was back in laconic mode, but he knew Abe understood.

The doctor handed him a card. "Maybe we never find a completely peaceful heart – but you'll find what you need. Give my regards to Donald... call me any time." He walked away with that rolling gait, and Gibbs sat down again, watching him go. He had a lot to think about.

NCISNCISNCIS

"So... you're going to arrest him?" Sam Neville looked sick at what Tony had told him.

"We're going to bring him in for questioning, Sam. Truth is, we can't prove a thing without Shirlee's testimony, and we need a sample of her DNA if we're even going to prove she took the evidence, but we've no idea where she is."

"But... he coerced her, that's what you said?"

Tony remembered the small boy whose nanny was fond of him, and who was clearly ready to defend her now. "It's a good defence," he said dubiously, "but not a foolproof one. Tampering with evidence is a serious crime, and a prosecutor could argue that she could have gone to someone for help. Sam, we've got to find her first, and so far we've had no luck at all. As to your father... we'll lean on him, but so far we've got nothing that's not circumstantial. We believe he forced someone else to commit a crime, and disposed of what he considered to be evidence – and you could argue that your car _would _have been evidence until we'd proved it wasn't the vehicle involved – both serious offences, but we can only get him on the car, and JAG may consider it not worth the bother."

"That's not fair,is it?"

"That Shirlee could be prosecuted for doing something she was forced into, while the guy who did the forcing got away with it? It wouldn't be. But it won't happen that way."

The sergeant ran a hand through his neat Marine hair. "Ah. And... your interest in the DNA was just curiosity?"

"No. It was investigation, not nosiness, Sam. We don't ignore anything, even if it turns out to be irrelevant. Again, you can tell me to go to hell, but I'm still curious – now this is nosiness, I guess... everyone I've mentioned you to thinks really well of you -"

"Well, that's something, I guess... except my father, you mean. And you want to know why."

Tony spread his hands. "Well, yeah."

"Why he doubted his paternity – can't help you there... I've lived my entire life not asking either parent. But when did he start disliking me, not just ignoring me? He came home from deployment and found Shirlee was teaching me to play the piano. He'd have smashed the instrument, but it was hers, and in her room. He said Marine's sons didn't 'do nancy boy things like that'. I waited until he went away again and just went right on learning, but from then on, I was a little fag, or whatever he thought of at the time. I just avoided him."

Tony just wasn't resolute enough right then to push away abandonment by both father figures in his own life. "Did he ever get violent?"

Something in his tone got a sympathetic grimace from the young man. "No... it was always the verbals, you know? Nothing was more important than the honour of the Corps, and I wasn't tough enough to become a Marine, they didn't accept daisies, you know the stuff. I didn't actually tell him they _had_ done until I'd finished my basic training. All my friends sent congratulations cards covered in the things." He managed a grin, that Tony returned.

He fished around for something positive to say. "I'm sorry about all this, Sam. I'm sorry about reviving it all seven years later, when you've got other things to think about. Can't be easy for you... hey, but new baby on the way, that's got to be good, hasn't it?."

Sam's grin grew happier. "Sure is." He paused, then grew serious again. "Look... Shirlee keeps in touch. The reason you can't find her's because she married a Spanish guy... they run a posada, an inn..."

"She lives in Spain?"

Sam's smile had a triumphant air to it now. "No... Andorra. Spain has an extradition treaty with the USA, Andorra doesn't. Now I understand why she asked me about it. I thought Ramon must have done something!" Again, the smile faded. "Tony... did I just sell my father down the river?"

Tony grew just as serious. "You just made my life easier. There's an uber-tech-whizz on my team -" _(ha... my team...)_ "He'd have found her in the end. We'll send someone from NCIS Rota to get a sworn deposition from Shirlee, and if I can get a promise of immunity thrown in – not sure if I can, tampering with evidence is bad, like I said, but so's coercion, and we've proof – the tears, remember – that _someone_ coerced her. Anyhoos, it'd mean she could return to the USA if she ever wanted to. Either way, she won't be bothered by us again."

"Fine," Sam said, with a sad air of decisive finality. "I know who I'd rather protect."

The agent nodded. "You just take care of that little'n when he arrives. Or she. Your baby'll have _your_ DNA, and you're a good man. I'll keep you posted. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Will do. Thanks." They both disconnected at the same time, and Tony stood for a moment, feeling waves of regret washing over him from all directions, then he thanked the technician, and left.

As he came down the steps, Alex, the only one there, looked up at him.

"We've found things, Boss, looks like you have too."

She produced a sub with a flourish. "Tim got you chicken in case it went cold, it's still edible. With some of that nasty unhealthy salad stuff he says Ducky keeps telling you to eat."

"Har har." Tony dug a bill out of his hip pocket, and put it on Tim's desk. "So, anything other than the sub?"

"He and Ziva have gone to talk to Steve Hawkins,who still has an auto repair shop near the river. I've checked on him, seems a legitimate establishment, pays his taxes, no record. Ziva left me some notes on Carmody's service record – he does seem a bit of a hothead, who's been known to think first and act later. Likes to be thought of as macho. It's possible that he told Shalimar the truth; whatever, he killed a fellow Marine and never fessed up."

Her cell phone rang. "Yes, Tim? Uh-huh..." She grabbed a pen, and wrote some figures down, repeating them aloud. "OK, got that. Will do." She looked back at Tony. "Some dates and payments into Eddie's bank account to check. He says he'll explain when they get back. They're on their way."

"OK, you do that. I've got to get on to Rota. Shirlee's in Andorra – I'll save the explanation too."

Tony had an aversion to sitting at Gibbs' desk, so he picked up the phone and sat on the outside edge while he patiently waited for his call to work its way through to early-morning Rota. He found himself talking to Stan Burley – who was slightly embarrassed to be talking to the guy whose rejection of the post had made him the second choice. Still, he was helpfulness personified. Yes, it was five hundred miles, but they'd put someone on a plane to the nearest airport as soon as they could establish where Shirlee was. Yes, he would call back ASAP.

Tony thanked him, disconnected, and went over to see how Alex was getting on. She'd highlighted entries in a bank statement of one Edward Connor Carmody, and looked up at him as he bent to peer at the screen. "They're all there," she said. "Direct transfers from the business account of Steve Hawkins Auto Repairs. Above board... I guess Eddie never thought we'd be looking."

"That is true," Ziva said as she came into the bull pen. "Mr. Hawkins remembered it clearly. He said that his friend Eddie arrived one evening in a foul mood, with drink on his breath, although he would not have described him as drunk. He told him the car was always going wrong, was costing him a fortune in gas, nobody wanted to buy it because of its size and age, and now someone had had the cheek to reverse into it. He handed the log over, and asked Steve to break it up and sell it for parts, and to let him have his share of the money as and when he could. Mr Hawkins suspected he'd had a minor collision and was blaming the car."

"Some minor collision," Tony said grimly.

"He's just called me," Tim added, arriving a minute behind Ziva. "He's found the only part of the vehicle he still has – the wiring loom. He keeps meticulous records," he added. "He does high quality repairs, but because he also breaks up the occasional car, he finds people calling his place the 'chop-shop', and he doesn't want that reputation. He paid Eddie regularly and fairly -"

"Got them all,"Alex told him, turning the screen for him to see. "So, how did the interview with Staff Sergeant Neville go?"

Tony sighed, and filled them in, including the call to Rota, and just as Tim said "So what next – " his desk phone rang. He spoke for a minute before hanging up, and said urgently, "San Diego PD. Carmody's coming back this evening, not tomorrow. Reagan, 19.35 hours. He's in the air now."

Tony glanced at his watch. "Four hours. Well, this could be good." They all waited expectantly. "OK, let's admit it's very unlikely that dear old Hilliard even knows of Eddie's existence -"

"Although you can be sure Eddie will have heard of _him_ from Sam," Ziva put in.

"And it's very unlikely that the arrest of one could warn the other , but if we pick up Neville senior while Eddie's on the plane there's no chance at all," Tim said.

"And we can pick him up on the disposing of evidence, even though that is a weaker charge by itself, because Agent Burley will get us the witness statement from Shirlee," Ziva continued. "That will give us a good case, will it not?"

Tony said, "Even now I'm not sure how keen they'll be to prosecute Neville senior -"

"Then let me go down to Legal and get an opinion from them," Ziva went on, the light of battle in her eyes.

"All in good time, Zi... down, girl! I _will_ let you arrest him though. Poetic justice after he bullied one woman into breaking the law and having to leave the country, for another woman to take him down. Thing is – even if they decide not to prosecute, everyone'll know what he did, and I'll settle for that. We'll have done our bit."

Alex watched the legendary MCRT at work and approved, even as she worried. Where did Gibbs come into all this? Would he come back to work tomorrow morning, and with his return would everything go back to being grim and tense again? She and Tony would be back at their desks round the corner, and the anxiety and pain would be right back in her Boss's eyes. She was aware that Tim was wearing a similar look to her own, and when he drew Tony to one side she buried her face in her monitor screen and resolutely refused to eavesdrop.

"Couple of things you need to know, Tony." The seriousness of Tim's tone stopped his former SFA from making any sort of facetious comment. He raised an eyebrow. "Ziva's got something on her mind, asked me a few leading questions about the team, you, me, Abby... but wouldn't say why. 'Oh, no particular reason, Tim'. And Abby called me when I was walking up from the car. That's why I arrived later than Ziva."

Tony's voice was sad. "How's she doing?"

"Seems OK... that's what I wanted to tell you. She says some of the people she's teaching are 'actually smart', and she's been doing some thinking, and she'll talk to us all when she gets back for the weekend, and they've 'actually got washing machines' in Norfolk. I don't know why that's important. And she said it wasn't your fault. Thought you ought to know."

"Yeah... you're right. Thanks, Mc - thanks, Tim."

Ziva called to them, as she finished a phone call. "That was Agent Burley. He says Shirlee is willing to talk, was tearful and asked after 'young Sam', and he has sent a 'good man' to 'some God-forsaken concrete strip' in the Pyrenees. He'll be in Andorra by midnight our time. We will have our information."

"According to his cell phone, Colonel Neville is at this moment at home in Glen Echo," Alex volunteered, determined to anticipate like the rest of them.

"Good," Tony said. "Let's go and pick up some unsuspecting dirtbags."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: I didn't say thank you last chapter to the unsigned reviewers. Sorry – and thank you.**

**I don't know if this chapter makes a lot of sense – I have the grand-daughters staying with me, while Mum and Dad are off gallivanting, and I can't think straight.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 15

The shadow were growing long, and soon there'd be no-one out on the course for him to watch, as falling darkness stopped play. The lights were slowly coming up on the driving range, where people could keep on practising all evening while their less committed cohorts sat in the bar.

Gibbs hadn't moved from his place on the terrace, and after he'd sat for a couple of hours with regular top ups of coffee from the smiling steward, the man had brought him a sandwich. "Dr. Levine said to look after you, Sir." It was rare silverside of beef with thinly sliced green capsicum and horseradish sauce, on granary bread with fat, malted grains. Gibbs thought it looked la-di-da, something DiNozzo might try to persuade him to order, but it was one of the best sandwiches he could ever remember eating.

He looked at his watch. Almost three hours he'd sat here, because there was no point in going somewhere else less pleasant just to do the same sitting and thinking. Nobody knew he was here; he wasn't answering his phone, (it had buzzed with a message not long ago, he'd ignored it;) free, good coffee without even asking... three hours of uninterrupted pushing away the conclusion he'd come to even before Abe got up to leave. Pacing round the small mental pathway, looking for side routes, but coming back to the same conclusion; if he didn't do something he was going to spontaneously self-combust, and no matter how many times he tried to walk away from it, he knew what it was he had to do.

The path kept leading him back to the same marker posts, and he went round one more time. The grief first; always Shannon and Kelly first – hadn't they been all he'd thought about from the time he came out of the coma? The second one, that was... he couldn't remember most of what had gone on in between the two. Most? How the hell could he tell if it was most, if he couldn't remember it? Them? Jenny. Ducky... _DiNozzo._

But hey, if bastard was his default setting surely it wasn't to be wondered at? Losing what he'd lost would make anyone a bastard... But Abe walked around smiling, caring for others, carrying his grief willingly as a badge of a proud debt – _she's with me every day – _Gibbs had never met a man who was less of a bastard!

Default setting... _making others as miserable as yourself, _well, certainly one person – _DiNozzo – _had Abe worked that out or got it from Ducky? Surely the ME understood, you had to be a bastard – he was giving that word some hammering – to do his job, didn't you? It cut through the crap, the carnage, the violence, the meanness and bloody-mindedness of humanity to what mattered. But how would being a bastard to your team, or your other colleagues, indulging in exactly the same meanness and bloody-mindedness yourself make it easier to do your job? He didn't know, because he couldn't remember... he knew things had happened, scenes, glimpses, but the details eluded him. There must have been a balance somewhere.

Maybe he should walk away. Leave it to others. _DiNozzo._

DiNozzo. The name kept coming into his head, no matter how hard he pushed. _You took the people they'd become... _You waltzed back in and took everything from him, whatever everything was... and you enjoyed doing it. And you're getting the message that was wrong, but you can't remember why, and your hackles still rise at the thought that you should be feeling guilty about being a bastard to a goofball.

_**He **seems to think he means something to me._

_He does._

He'd just let that one slide over him – was it because they'd moved on to other things right away, or because he didn't want to stop and consider it? Why hadn't he asked what Abe knew? Ha. Because Abe wouldn't have told him.

_Jethro, you won't listen to it from him, and I doubt very much you'll listen to it from me._ Ducky, speaking of DiNozzo. And just like Ducky, Abe wouldn't have told him because yep, he wouldn't have listened.

He had to_ stop_ listening... to the guilt, and the anger, and the grief, and the carnage... he had to take the break that Abe recommended, stop listening and see if there was anything to _hear _when he did. Walk away... _and if there's nothing to come back to?_ What if Jenny wouldn't stand for it, as he feared? Well, he'd just have to find out. He smiled, his mind made up, and took a long swig of coffee.

He remembered the message on his phone, and dug it from his pocket. Now, what did you have to do to read the thing... he put his glasses on and figured it out. From McGee – who kept his text-speak to a minimum when calling Gibbs.

_both cases solved u cleared going 2 arrest. _Ha. Nice work, McGee. He frowned. He'd put the two of them in DiNozzo's charge, so he must have had something to do with it, right? Or why had he done it in the first place?

_I'm working for you, not against you...I'll have it cleared up before IA can even start to twitch... I have and I will.._.And DiNozzo'd done it like he said. Stop thinking... just let whatever's going to happen, happen. He stood, left a good tip on the table for the attentive steward, and set off on the long walk back to his car, where he'd left it in the lot of the clinic hours – seemed like days – ago, feeling somewhat better than he'd done in a long while. Tomorrow he'd tell Jenny what he had in mind.

NCISNCISNCIS

Ziva looked at the two warrants a messenger from Legal had just brought. "Were you joking, Tony? When you said I should arrest Colonel Neville?"

The SSA smiled wolfishly. "Not at all, Ziva."

"Would it not be better for a Senior -"

"Ziva." _There she goes again... it's as if she can't __**help**__ arguing with me..._

"Yes, Tony?"

"You and McGee go get him." He didn't feel like justifying himself and he looked at Tim. "Be McSupercilious Senior Field Agent, stand back and leave it to the woman on the team -"

Tim grinned. "Rile him into saying something unguarded. Sure." Tony drew a 'one-up' finger in the air.

"You got it. By the book, Ziva. You can say what you like, but no damage, please. Bring him back here, stick him somewhere to cool his heels, then come out to the airport. Even if we've got Carmody by the time you arrive, I..." he pulled a wry face, "I'd kind of like Gibbs' team to have a presence in both arrests."

Tim nodded. "But for now, we stick with the one that could have done Gibbs the most harm. I like it."

As they rode down in the elevator, Tony called Jenny to keep her up to date, and as they split up to check out two vehicles, Tim's phone rang. He listened for a while, said "It sure is, thanks," and disconnected. "Tony!" The SSA paused, about to get into his car. "Stan. Couldn't get through to you – turns out it's me he needed. His lawyer's not got to Shirlee yet, but she was willing enough for Stan to ask her by phone the same questions he'll ask when he does get there." He held his phone up. "He's sending me her answers. Could be interesting."

Tony sketched a salute. "You'll find something to use. Enjoy." He ducked into his car.

As soon as Tim had closed his door, Ziva said, "Why did Tony not split us up if he wants Gibbs' team present at both arrests? Could he not have taken you? Or me?"

"Are you really asking that?"

"Of course I am really asking!"

"OK... you don't get on with Alex because she won't be intimidated by you, so that's out. You made it clear on Saturday that you don't want to spend time with Tony, and if I took Alex, you'd have to."

Ziva stiffened ready to protest, and then subsided. She couldn't actually disagree with anything Tim had just said, and thinking about it, Tony had also just dealt summarily with her dissent. It stung her that they had found her so easy to read, and to deal with; at Mossad, her opinion would have counted for more. Again, Tim read her.

"Zi, Tony was right. He knew what he wanted done, if you'd given him the chance to tell you. We've both second-guessed him for the sake of it far too much – time to stop. Your opinion's valued whenever it's needed, but you have to allow that he knows what he's doing." He sighed. "I didn't always see through the clown - he earned his seniority. Now... let's talk about how we're going to play this..."

Ziva inclined her head in agreement, although half of her mind was wondering how much her opinion would be regarded on this anti-terrorism team; but by the time they reached Glen Echo they'd made their plan.

Tim read the information on his phone, then handed it to Ziva, who frowned as she read . "He is a piece of dirt, this colonel," she said angrily.

"I think you mean piece of work, Zi, but dirt will do just as well." Tim reached over to the back seat to pick up the warrant, and clutched it officially as they walked up the path to the imposing stuccoed house. The door was opened by a wary, harrassed looking woman in her early or mid thirties, whose accent said Eastern European, and whose dress said clearly, 'hired help'. She was reluctant to let them in, but Tim was gently firm. "We need to speak to Colonel Neville right away, Ma'am."

"Er... Please wait -"

The man who stormed out of a living room doorway into the lobby had a loud voice, an aggressive swagger and a furious expression. "I thought I told you not to let anyone into the house! Who the hell -"

McSupercilious, Tony had said. "We're NCIS; Special Agent Timothy McGee, and Officer Ziva David of Mossad. Are you Lieutenant Colonel Hilliard Vernon Neville?"

"What of it? Ha! What's that young bastard done now?"

Tim looked him up and down, and took his time about speaking. "Colonel Neville, we have a warrant for your arrest, on charges of attempting to destroy or conceal evidence, and coercing another to do the same. You do -"

"What? What are you talking about? You've no right -" As he spoke he turned to go back into the room he'd emerged from, reaching for the handle of the door, intending to slam it on them. Ziva moved coolly to block his way. "Get the hell out of -" He raised his hands to shove her aside, only to find one hand gripped at the base of his thumb so painfully it made his eyes water, and he had to keep still because any movement simply increased the pain. It was something he'd learned as a Marine, and it was humiliating to have a woman half his size using it on him.

"You do not have to say anything..." Tim went on with the Miranda speech in that snooty tone of voice as if he hadn't spoken.

Neville barely waited until he'd finished before bursting out again, "I've done nothing wrong. Who says I have? That lying young rat – what's he-"

"'The Colonel made me change my name to Shirlee,'" Tim read out boredly from his phone. "'He said that Zerlina made me sound like an illegal immigrant. He did not wish his friends to think he employed an illegal to look after his son.' Samuel hasn't accused you of anything, Colonel. He did tell us how you got rid of his car... sold it, did you give him the money? No? I didn't think so."

Ziva smiled in spite of herself – Tim was doing exactly what Tony had suggested, and doing it like he'd been taking lessons from the master.

"I sold a car! What of it?"

"'The Colonel told me to quit my job looking after Major Ennis's daughter and go to work for NCIS'," Tim went on. "'I liked my job, I was sad to go, and Major Ennis was very upset. So was Jilly, and so was I. But Colonel Neville said he'd tell everyone I was an illegal immigrant, and it's not true. He said he could make everyone believe him. He wanted me to find the evidence against Sam and destroy it.'"

"You sent Shirlee to NCIS to tamper with evidence of a crime your son did not commit, Colonel, and you are under arrest." Ziva didn't give Neville a chance to resist, cuffing his hands behind him almost before he knew what was happening.

"That bastard's not my son," the Colonel spat, and neither agent bothered to correct him. "She kept telling me I was wrong, but in the end she threw it in my face - " he stopped. "What d'ya mean, didn't commit? I knew it was him soon as I saw that light on his car. Don't tell me -"

"All right I won't," Tim broke in indifferently, "But my Boss – " he leaned a little on the word; he wasn't too proud to sound like a subordinate if it angered the Colonel that the 'Boss' hadn't come after him himself – "has gone to arrest the guy who actually did do it." That finally seemed to leave him speechless, and they herded him towards the front door, leaving the maid standing in the kitchen doorway not knowing what to do. He didn't like to just abandon her, and there was no sign of Mrs Neville's presence, so he asked if she had a number for her. "Call her... or Staff Sergeant Neville; they'll know what to do." The woman nodded and fled into the kitchen.

NCISNCISNCIS

Ronald Reagan was never a quiet airport at any hour of the day or night, but Tony decided that going onto the aircraft to arrest Eddie Carmody was even more risky than letting him disembark. The man had a reputation as a hothead, and with other passengers and flight crew at such close quarters, there was always danger, so the two agents waited within sight of the arrival gate. At least flightside there were fewer people than in the public concourses.

"There..." Alex said softly, as the stream of passengers left the plane. "Shades on top of his head."

"I got him, "Tony said. "Let's get him."

"Ha, ha."

They separated,and moved up either side of the walkway. Alex stepped in front of the Marine with a smile and a 'hi', and he reacted straight away. Never mind who it was greeting him, she was a looker and she was smiling at him.

"Well hi yourself..." he was tapped on the shoulder from behind.

"Eddie Carmody?" The man he turned to glare at was also smiling pleasantly, but this time the Marine realised he was in trouble. "NCIS. You're under arrest, Sergeant, for the vehicular homicide of Private Dane Lishman. You need to come with us."

Carmody turned to run. Well, of course he would, Tony thought. They hadn't drawn their guns, nor did they want to, so they took off after him, Alex in the lead. Wow, she could run, Tony thought – the girl who'd said she could only scuttle. Weaving between startled passengers, she reached him first and brought him down, but he wasn't done. As he got to his feet, Carmody began to reach to grasp Alex's wrist, and Tony realised why with a lurch of his heart, even before he saw the flash of the Marine's knife.

Oh, no. No way. He'd promised Jackie he'd look out for her niece – and if that wasn't enough, the thought of little Jasmine growing up without a mom and him to blame – he sprang forwards, swinging an arm to knock the knife away from his partner, yelling "Alex, knife!" The Marine lunged at him instead, and the point of the knife jabbed him at the point of his left shoulder, coming up hard against the bone, _eecch_...then gashing downwards for a couple of inches before Tony punched his assailant hard in the stomach and doubled him up. As Carmody's head came down, Tony hit him again under the chin with both hands linked together, and the younger man's knees turned to jelly.

As passengers scattered and screamed, Alex drew her Sig, aiming at the groggy Marine, three-quarters out of it on his hands and knees, but looking in horror at her partner, also on his knees, his right hand reaching across to cup round his shoulder, blood welling out from between his fingers. That two-handed punch had _hurt_...

"Tony..." she said uncertainly. She'd only worked for him a very short time, but the bond she already felt with him was enough to have her freaking out at the sight of all the blood, but she also had a killer to deal with. She tried to get herself together, and was surprised at just how difficult it was.

Tony looked at the Marine, very disorientated but still moving; still, as far as he was concerned, a threat – especially as he felt as if he wasn't going to be of much use before very long. He looked up at Alex and saw her distracted expression.

"Guard your prisoner, Special Agent Dominguez!" he snapped forcefully.

Her back straightened and her eyes flashed. "_On your_ _six, Boss_!"

TBC

**AN: OK, a bit shorter than usual, but if I don't post now, I don't know when the heck I will.**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: First of all, thank you again to the guests who weren't signed in. Your support is appreciated very much.**

**Second – I made a real blooper with that knife, as two kind friends reminded me. Of course Eddie wouldn't have been able to have got off a plane with a knife on him; he'd never have got _on_ with one in the first place. And turning around now and saying ceramic would just be trying to weasel out of it – so, sorry... my bad.**

**I've tried researching a medical emergency room at RR airport, kept getting directed to UCLA – gave up, invented one. My bad again...**

**Got to get this chapter out today, going to Veeps' tomorrow for a couple of days.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 16

The bull pen was deserted; looking over towards DiNozzo's position Gibbs saw that those two desks were also unoccupied, and it was 08.30 hours. At first he was tempted to snort derisively; then he reminded himself that they'd solved two cases yesterday and cleared him of possible involvement in one of them, and realised that he ought to be grateful, and that maybe they were entitled to a late start.

McGee hadn't updated him on the arrests; he only just realised this, and thought again of how he seemed to be going backwards; but then, he'd been somewhat preoccupied last night and this morning. He'd worked a little on his boat, made an important phone-call, had a night-cap, and slept well, _in his bed._

He _was_ curious to know what had gone down; he wondered why DiNozzo had been so interested in his old CO for instance, but he was a man Gibbs had never cared to remember, and didn't want to think about now, as he walked slowly up the stairs to Jenny's sanctum.

The Director's door was wide open; it had been since she'd arrived, since she'd had the feeling that Jethro would appear at some point, probably sooner rather than later, and she didn't want to put Cynthia through the usual bother of trying to stop him – or herself through the 'why don't you knock' routine. She looked up, and was surprised to see him moving more slowly than usual; he actually paused a little on the threshold before meeting her eyes and entering the room. Oh my...

"Sit down, Jethro." She shot a look at Cynthia, who nodded her understanding, rose from her desk and closed the door on them. They sat down in the armchairs and Jenny waited, radiating composure, for all that she felt a mixture of sadness and anxiety.

Enough of the diffidence. "Need some time, Jen. Had some already... I know. Wasn't enough – don't think I used it right."

"I'd agree. You didn't come back rested or even half-way healed."

Gibbs shrugged. "Maybe half-way's about as much as I can hope for. Came back, took it out on everyone." He told her about the rigorous health check he'd put himself through the previous day, and then began to tell her about his encounter with Abe Levine, and she smiled.

"I've met Doctor Levine. He's a one-off; I'm glad you've spoken to him. Nice choice, Ducky. Go on."

By the time he got to the end of his narrative, Jenny felt a little less anxious, but the sadness persisted. Whatever happened, this was the end of an era.

"I couldn't figure out why I couldn't remember – he says I'm stopping myself. Making myself angry."

"And he feels that as long as you're around everything that makes you angry, that's just going to go on happening."

He met her eyes again and nodded. "Took me three hours of sitting doing nothing to accept that he's right, Jen."

There was a pause as Cynthia brought in industrial strength coffee, then Jenny went on, "So, how long do you need? And Jethro, how are you going to make sure that this time you benefit from it?"

She could actually see him going on the defensive, and if he'd said 'none of your business' she'd have at least threatened to fire him, but he relaxed again. "How long? I don't know. Know it doesn't help you. What am I going to do?" He shifted in his chair, and leaned back. Once he'd told someone, it wasn't his secret any more and he didn't feel he could go back on it. "Last boat I built... the 'Stephanie' apparently... she's down at a boatyard on Oconquon Bay. Being fitted out with the engine, the galley, all that. The guy was going to sell her for me, take his cut... what I usually do."

"Except for the 'Diane'... you burned that."

He smiled wryly. "So I'm told. Think I actually remember something about that. I talked to him last night, she's almost ready to go. He's just fitting the GPS, and by Sunday he'll have the sails rigged. Gonna take her for sea trials, Jen. I'll coast-hop down to Florida, then across to the West Indies. Maybe mooch around there for a week or two... When I feel like my head's on straight, I'll come back." He paused. "It's either that or go on hating the world until it gets me killed. Or worse, somebody else."

He took several pulls at his coffee waiting for Jenny to speak, then finally said, "You're going to tell me I can't have open ended leave, and ask for my resignation. It's all right... don't want to go, Jen, but I don't see what else you can do."

The way he'd been roaring around the place since his return, she was staggered to find him peacefully seeing her point of view; she'd have to thank Abe Levine as soon as possible. She knew the wise Jewish psychologist wouldn't give away any doctor-patient private information, but he might be able to tell her something to help _her_ to help Jethro...

"You're too valuable to NCIS for me to consider losing you altogether," she said calmly. "On a personal level, I want to see you well. Recovered. Something approaching happy. I want you to be able to lose your demons somewhere on the high seas. I want you to know that the agency you were doing your duty for when you suffered the injuries that did this to you, isn't going to abandon you. There'll be something waiting for you when you return – don't ask me what, I don't know. We can thrash that out when I welcome you back, the next time you sit here. But... it won't be MCRT."

That was a blow to the guts, even though he'd been expecting it, and he tried to conceal it. "I understand that."

"Do you? I can't let our top team be destabilised again – Tony barely got them through it last time, and I don't think any of them understood that he did. I can't do it to them again, have them wondering if you're coming back again – and I certainly won't do it to _him._ DiNozzo gets MCRT, and he_ won't _be required to step down when you return. And any misguided attempt to do so won't be accepted."

"Why would he do that?"

"He did this time."

"Yeah, but _why?_"

"Jethro, there are a lot of things I hope you'll remember, and believe me, that's somewhere up the top of the list. You haven't asked about him, by the way."

His heart seemed to twitch in alarm. "Asked what about him?"

Jenny paused; either Tim McGee had been remiss in not keeping Gibbs in the picture or... of course... he'd been_ ordered _not to. She sighed. "I believe you need to talk to your Senior Field Agent. I'll look into what sort of pay deal is still available to you during your leave of absence, and let you have it in writing. When do you want to start your leave?"

Gibbs frowned. That felt cold. Now it came down to it starting was going to be hard... "Couple'a days? Need to leave everything in order."

"Today and tomorrow, then, or to the end of the week if you need it." She stepped close and hugged him briefly. "Good luck, Jethro." After he'd gone she sat back down in the easy chair, staring into space and trembling slightly.

Gibbs paused on the mezzanine, looking down. McGee sat at his desk, tapping keys, watching his screen. The Marine frowned again; was that a subtle hint from Jenny? He'd not actually made the young man his SFA... why not? Not good enough? He seemed competent, the little attention he'd paid. He still thought of DiNozzo in that position? Couldn't let go? Bang on cue, that damn headache... he pushed the thought away and set off down the stairs. He felt rather guilty, when McGee looked up and saw him, at the way the younger agent firmly composed his features into a determined smile.

"Morning, Boss. Ziva's fetching breakfast; I asked her to bring some extra when I saw your car was here."

Gibbs nodded; he tried to shape his mouth around a 'thank you', but it just wouldn't come out. He managed a grunt that wasn't actually rude, as he sat down. His gut was churning for some reason. "So, tell me about the cases, then."

NCISNCISNCIS

_Carmody was fortunate, as Alex knelt on his kidneys, that Airport Security arrived quickly. Looking to the side, where Tony was by now sitting on the ground, still clutching his shoulder, head down on his drawn-up knees, she'd decided if the Marine tried anything else she'd shoot him._

_Tony was fortunate that the airport had a competent medical emergency team, courtesy of their Fire and Rescue Service; they cleaned and stitched the two inch gash, splinted a broken left index finger, gave him antibiotics, painkillers and a sling, set up a plasma IV and left him in peace until it had run. After that, they said, it would be up to him and his partner where they took him, although they'd be happy to arrange transport. That suited Tony just fine; as the waves of pain, light-headedness and nausea subsided he was already making plans, which didn't include being forcibly shoved into an ambulance and hauled off to the nearest hospital, with all the ensuing hassle of signing himself out AMA. _

_Alex **thought **she was fortunate, when Tim and Ziva arrived – surely they'd be able to talk Tony out of this crackpot idea?_

_He lay back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Alex was safe; Carmody was in safe custody, checked over for concussion by the same helpful medics, until they could get him to NCIS, and that was where Tony was going. A quiet, masculine voice said his name, and he opened his eyes. "Hey, McSuperior, Ziva," he said with a lazy smile. "Did it work?"_

"_Oh yeah," Tim said with a grin. "I left him in Interrogation 1, yelling at the mirror. It's all being filmed. I read out big extracts from Shirlee's statement; the bit that really got him going was when I mentioned him trying to keep her piano when she left – 'to stop her turning any other marine's kid into a fag'. Sam and three of his high school friends waited until he was deployed again, put it on a pick-up truck, and took it to her new place, where her employer had happily made room for it."_

"_That word happily sent him off at the steep end," Ziva said. "He yelled about her making his son into a... pansy, yes? Not a daisy... He screamed that nobody could be happy with someone who turned a... oh, the language just got worse; you would not want me to repeat it, but someone who did not have the courage to admit he had committed a crime, and forced his **so called father**to cover for him. We both witnessed that, and it is on film. He still does not believe that Sam is really his son,or that he did not kill Dane, in spite of anything we could say – he does not want to. But I believe we have him."_

"I believe we have," Tim agreed. "Now, what about you? I know you got Carmody, Alex filled us in. She's gone to get you a new shirt from somewhere; she wants us to persuade you to go to the nearest hospital. I gather you've already said no; but shouldn't you?"

Tim had waited for a string of arguments, but Tony had simply said 'no way', and asked them to transport the prisoner back to NCIS. "Get Ducky to check him over, if he's fit to be interrogated he's all yours. Get a confession and send him off to remand. I'll join you when this has run... and I get a shirt."

"Join us?" Tim had protested.

"Oh yes. I want to talk to Colonel Daddy."

NCISNCISNCIS

By now Ziva had arrived, and she wordlessly handed Gibbs a warm paper bag. He took it just as quietly, not wanting to interrupt Tim's story. "So," he said finally, "DiNozzo came back here last night? Even though you'd got Neville to incriminate himself?"

Tim nodded. "Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "Tony hadn't finished with him. He spoke to Sam Neville in MTAC yesterday, and came down with something on his mind. He got Alex to bring him back here, even though he'd – reluctantly – agreed to make the journey from the medical room to the car in a wheelchair... he walked from the car to the observation room, then told Alex she should go home to her daughter as it was getting late. He said if she really wanted she could watch the film later. She didn't much like it, but she did as he said. She's a good probie – knows when to follow instructions. He marched in there like he'd just got up after a good ten hours sleep, and sat down. The Colonel had run out of steam earlier, but he started up again. Tony said one word."

"_Shush."_

"_What?"_

Tony's voice had been quiet, flat... and_ scary. "You heard me, Colonel. I'm in no mood to listen." _The Colonel's mouth had dropped open. "_So... you've admitted that you corrupted an innocent woman to go and do your dirty work... forced her away from a job she loved..."_

"I never said that!"

"_No, she did. So did her new employer. As I was saying... you forced her to take the evidence from NCIS, and you disposed of your son's car."_

"_He's not -"_

"_Shush. Pity you sold it... but no doubt you found the money useful, the Corps doesn't pay too well. If you'd had any sense you'd have pushed it into a lake. Means I can only charge you with tampering with evidence, not destroying it. Your son's still got that car – he loves it, see? And we're not remotely interested in it, because it's not evidence."_

"_What d'you mean, not evidence?"_

"_Shush. D'you think your son would still be driving around in it if it was? Letting his wife drive it? 'Oh honey, I know you love the Impala, don't worry that it killed a man'..."_

"_It did! That car killed a real Marine..."_

"_You're not listening..." _

"Tony practically sang the words, Boss. I've never seen him so fired up in interrogation."

"_A Toyota Land Cruiser, driven by a 'real Marine' killed Dane Lishman, and I just arrested the 'real marine' concerned. You, on the other hand... you tampered with evidence rather than taking your son's word for it that he was innocent." Airquotes - "'For the honour of the Corps' you made a young woman so scared she fled the country, and unless I can cut her some sort of deal she can't ever come back... 'For the honour of the Corps' you made her destroy what little evidence we had, that might have helped us to find the real killer way sooner, and blamed your son for -"_

"_That bastard isn't my son!"_

"He had the evidence folder there, and I don't know how he opened it so smoothly, at the right place, one handed – but he slapped the DNA printouts under the guy's nose so hard he flinched."

"_Now, I don't expect you to understand any of this... but this one here is Sam... and this one here, well this is you. I don't understand it either... but I know a guy who does. Your DNA print from the registry, and Sam's. Samuel **is **your son, more's the pity, I had to tell him so."_

"_Pity?" _

"_That's right. He'd been hoping you were right."_

"_**What?" **_

"Neville almost fell off his chair, Boss."

"_What I said... He's a Bronze Star Marine, he's going to be a Dad... and he was really hoping that you **weren't **his kid's grandpa." _

"He got everything together, swept it up and marched out of the room... I still don't know what got to him so much... he never talks about his father... I don't know. Anyway, we wondered why he didn't come into observation. I ran out and found him slowly sliding down the wall. I got my shoulder under his and propped him up, and decided to do what I'd been told. Alex isn't the only one who knows when to follow instructions."

"Which instructions were they, Tim?" Ziva asked curiously.

"Alex's of course. 'If you don't get him to my place when you're done, you're a dead man, McGee. Don't take any shit from him.'" So I didn't. I left him sitting on the stairs until we'd finished dealing with the lovely Colonel, then said goodnight to you and went back for him."

NCISNCISNCIS

"_There... he'll be fine till morning... I'll be in the room next door anyway."_

_Tim had had the forethought to persuade Tony to take a couple of painkillers as they'd begun the drive over, and now they'd gotten a sleepy, half compliant rag doll stripped down to his boxers and into Alex's bed. "Can't take... your bed... mi Prueba..."_

"_Sshh... I'll share with Jaz, she thinks it's fun. Go to sleep." And in a matter of moments, he had._

"So, he's OK?"

"Well, no, Boss, he should be in a hospital, but he won't go. He's in the next best place though, Alex'll take care of him. I guarantee he'll be back here before the week's out. Alex said she'd be in later to take care of paperwork, but her aunt and her little girl would keep him in order while she's gone."

The three of them settled at their desks, and thought their own thoughts.

Ziva wondered if she would still be here at the end of the week. Tony seemed to be well established with his probie and his two person team; Gibbs and Tim could certainly carry on without her; things were changing...

Gibbs knew he wouldn't be here at the end of the week, and wondered how and when he'd be back. He didn't like the thought of an injured DiNozzo beyond his reach, and he couldn't figure why... He took out the necessary form for making McGee up to SFA; he could at least do that one thing for both of them; he could ensure that McGee got the promotion he'd earned, and DiNozzo could have the second he needed when he took over. For good measure, he picked up the phone and quietly asked Ducky to go make a house call.

Tim thought of sitting drinking coffee with Alex last night, side by side on her settee.

"_He saved my life yesterday – or at least saved me from becoming a hostage... he didn't wait to find out which, he just did it."_

_Tim nodded. "A bit over a year ago, he saved me, and Kate. Took over holding a key to stop a bomb from detonating... just told us to get out of there, then when we were clear, he out-ran it. He drives me crazy sometimes, but in a crunch, he's always there for you, you know?"_

"_Yes... I think I do." She sighed, thinking of everything she'd learned, that had drawn her in, in such a very short time. "What's going to happen, Tim?"_

"_I don't know... it's been bad. Things have to change... but," he paused, and then went on, "I think your arrival's been a good thing – maybe it's an indication – the changes might be good... for the best, even."_

_They clinked coffee mugs in a toast to hope._

_TBC_

**AN: Shades of Tony, Gibbs and beer bottles... next chapter won't be up until Sat. at the earliest... visit to VP, and other less fun more work RL do do first.**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Once again, thank you all the unsigned-in reviewers. Since I can't tell if you're regular or dropping in for the first time, thank you if you've stuck with me this far.**

**It occurred to me that I've not so far made a disclaimer for this story, and I can't think of anything witty to say so:- I neither own nor make any financial gain from NCIS. Wonderful, precious friendships, definitely. The learning of patience? Maybe. Creative enjoyment, you bet.**

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 17

Tony drifted up gradually, from a comfortable haze, feeling as if he'd slept for a week. He started going over things in his mind, to organize the day ahead by what had happened on the day behind him, a practice he'd acquired in childhood that had been useful ever since.

He'd need to talk to Ducky; he had no idea yet of what sort of help the ME would have given, but he knew he'd have done something. If Gibbs came in to work today, he'd try to talk to him: simply because there was no way he _wasn't _going to try. He'd need to write up a rather comprehensive report, making sure that Gibbs' non-culpability was emphasised, and speaking of the valuable assistance given by the Marine's team in ensuring a successful closure of both cases. Careful, DiNozzo, you're even thinking in reportese... He had a feeling Alex would have started already, and probably written his as well.

Alex... they'd worked together like a well oiled machine; her attention had wavered for an instant, and he'd have to remind her, gently, that that wasn't acceptable while there was still a threat – but she _cared_... He smiled to himself – she could run like Northern Dancer, and wasn't afraid of a guy twice her size... Where had she got 'On your six Boss' from? That lunchtime at Silvia's cafe... where he'd had to resort back to English to explain it, because 'En sus seis, Jefe!' made them hiss like snakes and fall about giggling – well, hearing her say it had made him proud, happy, and desperately sad all at once.

Thinking of his partner made him also think that maybe he shouldn't spend any more time hogging her bed, and he made to sit up quickly. A fierce, stabbing pain in his injured shoulder made him yelp, and slow down. He opened his eyes as he managed to push himself up, and grinned. "Hey, Li'l Princess..."

Jasmine sat demurely on the edge of her mother's dressing table, wearing an old fashioned nurse's outfit with a blue dress and a white apron with a red cross on the bib. She slid off her perch, came closer, and looked at him intensely. "Does it hurt, Tony?" (He'd said 'no uncle, _please_' when he'd first met her.)

"A bit, Princess, but it'll be better soon."

"Mommy said tell her as soon as you woke up. Grandpa Ducky's waiting to see you."

"Grandpa?"

"He's like a Grandpa. Mommy says I got one, far away. Ducky... ap... ap_plied _for the job." She looked pleased that she'd remembered her new word.

Tony smiled again. "He'll be good at that! You want to tell your Mom? I should get up."

Jaz nodded, and scampered out. Tony made a one-handed grab for his pants, wary of using his left arm, and nevertheless had them on and zipped by the time Alex arrived. Last night he'd not had a lot of choice, but now he was da – blowed, he'd even make an attempt not to swear in his thoughts for Jasmine's sake – if he was going to be caught in his boxers by his female probie.

"Tony... how're you doing?"

Not a reproachful 'what are you doing'... he liked the aforesaid probie even more.

"Morning, Alex – truth? I need the bathroom, and wish I could clean my teeth. And is Ducky really here?"

She smiled. "Drinking tea with Jackie... and charming the daylights out of her and Jaz. And before you ask, _Gibbs_ sent him. He said he'd have come anyway."

"Gibbs, huh?" Tony mused quietly. He didn't know what to think of that.

"Yep." She moved out of the room and opened the door opposite, and looked pointedly at the dressing on his shoulder, and the finger taped to the one next to it. "New toothbrush in the cabinet above the basin. Can you get it out of the pack one handed?"

"Sure. Thanks, Alex." He stepped into the bathroom and she closed the door behind him. She stood outside for a moment trying to wipe the grin off her face; she'd been able to take a much better look at him than last night. Well, just because he was her boss and out of bounds, didn't mean she couldn't _enjoy_, right? She was happy, more or less, with her celibate lifestyle; men so far had been one big let-down, and she'd eschewed – loved that word – them all for Jaz's sake, but there was a reason her pals down at Norfolk were so green with envy... She'd have to show them a picture of Tim as well... foolish, but after the put-down she'd given him that first day, now she'd met the real McGee she liked him a lot better. Gentle, with a steel core. She laughed ruefully. _Get a grip, Alex, you can't have __**either **__of them, let alone both!_

In the bathroom, Tony struggled._ Sure... _He wasn't sure at all; he'd had minor injuries before, and he knew that the stabbing pain was wrong. It should ache and throb, _sure_, but this was more. He'd have to be honest with Ducky, but dammit, he had things to do... he gave up on the not swearing in his head... Fifteen minutes later, without even a coffee, let alone breakfast, "They may wish to anaesthetise you, Anthony," he was sitting in Ducky's Morgan, heading for Bethesda.

Four hours later, ravenously hungry and as wobbly on his feet as a puppy on a frozen puddle, he was back, collapsed on Jackie's sofa, with Jasmine solemnly putting a blanket over him while Ducky brought her aunt up to speed. "His finger has been properly set, and an x-ray revealed a small chip off his scapula loose in his shoulder, that's now been removed. The muscle will repair itself, the gash has been re-stitched, and he'll be just fine."

They both looked at the sleepy agent, who slurred "Thank you, Nurse Jasmine," before giving up altogether. The little nurse touched his face, and sat down to guard him.

"Now, are you certain, dear Senora, that you and our young Senorita are happy to look after Anthony until Alex returns? We're not imposing?"

"It's a pleasure, Ducky." Jacinta beamed; she stood half a head taller than the ME, and neither of them gave it a thought. "Alex has gone to check up on the reports she sent – she wrote Tony's as well as her own this morning and mailed them to herself – now she wants to look at one or two of his old ones to make sure she has his language right."

Ducky smiled back. "A most resourceful young lady. She'll go far. If young Anthony gives you any trouble, call me." They both looked down at the sleeper again. "He's had it tough," Ducky said as he moved towards the front door. "We all have, but he... he carried everybody, and nobody realised. Nobody carried him. He needs stability, Jacinta," he pronounced it with the soft 'h' sound that no-one around here ever did, (she never complained – after all, if they did they'd probably call her 'Hackie'!) and she smiled again. A true _caballero._.. and he was subtly asking for her help.

"He will be the best friend you could wish for if you let him," Ducky went on, by now on the doorstep. "All he needs is to trust that he won't be abandoned."

Jackie didn't smile. "I didn't abandon my niece when she became pregnant, Ducky. Her parents were no help at all, but she's like a daughter to me – and yesterday Tony kept her from harm. I may look like a hippo -"

"Dear lady!" Ducky protested.

"But I am a lion for those I love. Una leona!"

Ducky patted her arm. "That's all I could possibly hope for." He raised his hat and went on his way.

NCISNCISNCIS

Alex walked out of the elevator and over to her desk, observing as she did so that all of the MCRT were at theirs. Tim gave her a smile and a raised eyebrow. She grinned back and pointed to her computer, sat down and fired it up. A few moments later Tim's email signal pinged.

_The patient's doing fine – good night's sleep, Ducky took him to Bethesda just to be sure, since he wouldn't go last night._ Tim mailed a thank you back.

Less than an hour later she was standing in front of his desk, with a print-out, several pages long, in her hand. "I've emailed you Tony's report and mine," she told him. "Tony's is forged, he's in no fit state... if you think I need to change anything just tell me. I should give you this, I think , or your boss." She half turned to include the rest of the team. "Tony said the case was to go back to you if you wanted it Special Agent Gibbs, once he'd proved you weren't involved."

"So, what have ya got?"

"It's a copy of Shirlee Oakes statement." She assumed, justifiably, that Tim would have filled his boss in on the case. "The notarised hard copy is on its way from Spain, but Special Agent Burley thought the contents would be of interest, and they are. Since my boss isn't here, I'm taking it on myself to hand it over."

Gibbs wasn't more than marginally interested, considering what else was on his mind, not least being how to tell his team, but he made the effort, since the Shannon-conscience on his shoulder had been joined by a phantom Abe. It was getting crowded up there.

"He OK?"

"Not too bad. He'll be fine."

Gibbs nodded. He reached for his reading glasses and the document. "Which bit?"

"Page three, highlighted," Alex said without missing a beat. She turned back to Tim and Ziva. "She says she didn't destroy the evidence," she explained. "She hid it, and she describes exactly where. It's likely to still be there. I know we don't need it any more, but it'd be good corroboration – and concealing evidence is a lesser charge than destroying." She turned back to Gibbs. "My boss is planning to try to broker some deal so that Shirlee can come back to the USA without being arrested."

"One of the things she says," Tim agreed sadly, "is that her family can only see her if they go there, and they don't understand why she won't come home. She did once, for a funeral, and she was terrified the whole time that someone had found out and she'd be arrested. Her family were puzzled and heartbroken when she went straight back. Neville's responsible for a lot of pain, Boss."

Gibbs nodded again, and stood up abruptly. He didn't want to think about being responsible for pain. "Let's go see, then." He glanced at Alex. "You as well, if ya like. Your bust – and _your boss's._" He wished he could have kept the sarcasm out of his voice, since he still didn't know why it was there.

In the basement, behind the evidence locker, two rooms had been knocked into one, and a redundant doorway close to the rack where The Box had sat had been boarded up with two sheets of plywood, one each side of the wall. The ply used on the evidence room side had originally been intended to face a door, and rather than waste it it had been used even though a semi-circular hole the size of a large fist had been cut in it to accommodate a lock. It was unsightly, and anyone wondering about the tall filing cabinet stood in front of it would assume it had been put there to cover it up. Not so... Shirlee had dragged it there so that people would forget about the hole altogether.

"Tony said she'd have been better to make the whole box disappear," Alex said. "Now we know why she couldn't."

Tim had brought a flashlight, and peered in awkwardly. "Definitely something there," he said. "She just grabbed the stuff from the box, and shoved it through the hole."

Gibbs arrived with a crowbar, and a member of the janitorial staff with a hammer and nails. Ziva had the camera. Two Baggy Bunnies hovered to witness the proceedings, as the former Marine jemmied the wooden sheet away from the wall at the bottom. "Your bust," he told Alex. "It's OK, I won't let it snap back on your fingers."

"Never thought you would, Gibbs," the probie said cheerfully, and went down on her knees as Tim held the light. "One... two... echh, dead mouse... three, four...ooof... got it. Five." She got back up clutching the five missing evidence bags. "That mouse was pretty well mummified," she said. "These should be fine. Should I take them to Doctor Dooley?"

Your bust," Gibbs told her again.

"We had some help," Alex told him, waving a hand at Tim and Ziva. "Couldn't have done it without them." She hurried away.

It began to get noisy as the janitor hammered the board back in place, so they left. Tim politely thanked the Bunnies as they went – somebody had to keep on their good side.

They all read through Shirlee's statement, and seethed for both the young nanny she'd been then, and for her charge whose only crime seemed to have been being born nine months after a builder had put an extension on the Nevilles' house. Now she didn't have to show restaint, the brakes were off, and Shirlee was vitriolic. How could Sam ever be the builder's son when the man was so far below Doreen Neville's social standing she could never even be bothered to use his name, let alone get between the sheets with him. Her only interest in her husband was his rank!

She'd been bullied and the boy ignored by both of them. "I think she let him have sex one time because he got a promotion, and the result was Sam!" Even allowing for angry exaggeration it was clear that Tony had been right. The 'Honour of the Corps' – a weird, twisted idea of that honour as far as Gibbs was concerned, was the only thing that mattered to Neville Senior, and it was only thanks to some sweetness of nature that must have hopped a generation from a grandparent, and the devotion of Shirlee, that had made Sam's life bearable, and had him grow up the decent person he was. Tim frowned. He was sure there was some... parallel... in there with Tony, but he had no clear idea what, just a feeling.

Gibbs was uneasy. Tim could see it – always be aware of your surroundings, or in this case, the people. Every so often he'd look round, take a deep breath – and then slide his eyes back to his monitor, and the statement. Ziva raised an eyebrow at Tim; he shook his head. Maybe the fifth time it happened, he thought _'This time he's going to say something, and if he doesn't, then I will...'_ when they were both interrupted by the arrival of Robbie Dooley.

"Alex has gone back to tell Tony," he said without preamble. "She said I should come and tell you. The prints are Shirlee's. There are tears on the bags too. I don't know yet if I can get anything from them but I'm going to try. It'd link The Box and the bags comprehensively. There'll be no possibility of a smart lawyer casting any doubts. I've only just started – let you know when I'm done." He grinned, and turned to go with Tim's thanks following him. Gibbs thought of Abby, and sighed.

Tim took a deep breath – if Tony could do it then so could he. He was about to say _'what's up, Boss',_ when Ducky bustled out of the elevator. He looked shrewdly across at Gibbs as he approached; the silver haired man affected not to notice.

"Ah, Jethro... Timothy, Ziva – I gather the case – er, cases – were wrapped up well. Splendid! I've just deposited Tony back at Alex's home. Where he has two wonderful ladies looking after him."

Tim smiled broadly, his mission forgotten for a moment. "Jackie's a one-off, isn't she? I didn't meet Jasmine, it was past her bed-time when I got Tony back there."

Ziva had an odd sensation of being on the fringes. She knew it was an exaggeration; she had been in charge here, sending the prisoners to remand, or no doubt she would have gone with Tim to deliver Tony to Alex's house. And no doubt if she stayed around she would meet both the probationer's aunt and her child before too long, so she wondered if she was manufacturing the sense of alienation. Did it indicate that she was leaning towards accepting Jenny's offer? Ducky was reporting on Tony's state of health, and she felt guilty for not paying attention.

"So... he'll likely be in tomorrow?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm not sure he should attempt to drive, but I don't doubt he'll be able to con young Alex into being his taxi, so, yes. I expect you to help Agent Dominguez to enforce desk duty, Timothy."

Tim nodded. "It'll take two of us, Ducky." Gibbs wondered why McGee and the doctor for that matter – didn't include Ziva. Tim knew there was no point.

Ducky was thinking that if Gibbs was asking there was a confrontation in the making; and just now, wise as he was, he had no idea what kind it would be. "Well," he said, "I've made my report; now I must go and find out what young Mr. Palmer's been up to in my absence. I'm sure house-calls aren't in my job description..."

He turned to go, and Tim braced himself to tackle Gibbs, when his boss said in a low voice, "Ducky, stay a minute, would ya?" Something in his tone made all three pairs of eyes turn towards him. "Gather round. Sit."

They dragged chairs over, and did as he said, then waited. The Marine looked at his knees for a moment, then looked up. His expression was calm, the conflict Tim had been observing was gone. "Gotta tell you something. Didn't warn you last time, just went. I'm taking some time – I don't know how long. Need to get my head on straight, cuz everyone can see it's not right now. Right?" Nobody said 'wrong', nobody spoke. "I'm gonna get away until I'm not living sideways any more... till I'm not a danger to you. Can't lead you like this."

"But we can -" Ziva began.

"Hear me out, Ziver. Whatever it was you were going to say – help, talk – you can't. I knew last time I needed to go – didn't use it right though. Going to go sailing... come back when I know it's all OK."

Tim wasn't sure he liked the sound of that entirely. He sympathised entirely with how the Boss was feeling after what he'd gone through, but he didn't feel that another round of trying to pick up again would be good for anyone. They were in a state of flux now, to do it all again in three months, six months, a year...

"Can hear ya thinking, McGee. The Director says I can't come back to MCRT. I figure she's right. All the change that needs to be done gets done now. We move on."

"When are you going, Boss?"

"You're SFA now. Off rotation for a few days, you can help me put things in order." It was the closest to a request rather than an instruction that Tim had ever heard from Gibbs. "Day after tomorrow probably."

"You're serious about coming back?"

"Jenny says there'll be something for me when I do. Just won't be you guys." Tim nodded. Good. He was pleased about that; no way should Gibbs cut himself off from them for ever.

Ziva asked, with a slight edge to her tone, "Who will lead us now?"

"Nobody's been asked yet, Ziver." There was one name in all of their minds, for varying reasons, but he wasn't going to say because that was DiNozzo's business, and the Director's job.

Ducky reached up and clasped his old friend's shoulder. "You're wise, Jethro. See that you _do_ come back. Come down later on and have a chat about it."

"Will do, Ducky." The ME went resignedly away towards the basement elevator. "Goin' for coffee," Gibbs said.

Ziva jumped up and followed him. "Gibbs... do not go."

"Decision's made, Ziver. Only one to make." He touched her cheek, and disappeared into the elevator.

Ziva hurried to the ladies room, her eyes full of hot tears. He could not go again – what would life be like without him? How rational was it to be asking herself such a thing when not half an hour ago_ she _had been contemplating leaving? Who would lead now? She knew the answer, and hated it. Tim as SFA... Tony leading, cosy with his probie, and herself as nothing more than Mossad Liaison. Had he ever made her feel like 'nothing more than' anything? No... he'd made her feel special...he'd made her feel like something she didn't _want_ to feel... no, no, no... she didn't want to work for Tony.

TBC

**AN: Whew, another long one... I suspect the next one might see the story out.**


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: I have a canon I usually stick to in my stories; never kill, or permanently maim, physically or mentally, any member of the team. Never break up the team. It's been strangely liberating to break away from that, but ow, ow, I'll never do it again.**

**Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me; I hope the ending's OK, friends! There will be a couple of sequels because ultimately I can't not...**

**Thanks to the unsigned-in reviewers; a special mention to earthdragon, who's given me some very thoughtful comments to mull over.**

**I own nothing, not even the original idea, but it's been a blast in an odd sort of way. **

Sideways and Forwards

Chapter 18

Dr. Lishman shook Jenny's hand, and clung to it for rather a long time. "Thank you, Director Sheppard... thank you again for everything. I was expecting just another year of being told the same thing... please thank the team who... found..." he couldn't go on. Jenny dropped formal, and squeezed the slightly trembling hand between both of hers.

"I've said I would," she assured him gently, "and I promise I will."

"The senior agent who was injured during the arrest..."

"Will be fine. He's one of my best – I trusted him for a result, and he didn't let me down, he or his team. He's taken the day off to recover, or you could have met him, but I assure you he came to no permanent harm. I hope today compensates in some way for all the years you've waited." She walked with him to the outer door of Cynthia's office, where an agent waited to escort him, and after a few more murmured words of gratitude, the murdered Marine's father went on his way.

Tim came up from a trip to the lab to see the doctor's departing back, and Jenny Sheppard leaning over the balustrade watching him go. "Director, was that Dr. Lishman?" He'd seen the man arriving, and being escorted up to the mezzanine just before Gibbs had dropped his bombshell, and he'd wondered then.

Jenny started down the stairs as she answered him. "Yes, it was. If there'd been any of you around I would have introduced you. You did a good job."

"How is he?"

Jenny didn't treat it as a silly question. "He's just as I'm sure you can imagine, Tim. Pleased, satisfied, and very sad at the same time. I told him what I could of the interlinked case; he asked me to see if Sam Neville would be prepared to contact him; he wondered if a talk might help them both."

Tim frowned, and Jenny wrinkled a puzzled brow. "It may be a very good thing," the young agent said thoughtfully. "But if he's thinking 'substitute family'... well, sometimes it doesn't work. Maybe the expectations are too high."

She'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and hearing the regret in his voice she came to face him. "Has Gibbs spoken to you?"

"He... he's told us of his intention to take some time." He looked down at his shoes sadly, then met her eyes again. "I don't want him to go – but I don't want him to be here, the way he is and getting worse. I want him to heal."

"I knew he was going to tell you; but that's not what I meant, Tim. A form from him just arrived on my desk requesting me to confirm your promotion to Senior Field Agent on the MCRT. Gibbs didn't tell you?"

Tim found he was neither surprised nor offended at being left out of his own loop; he was beginning to understand better the law unto himself that Gibbs was just now. He was happy to get the recognition – _don't be egotistical, it's unbecoming – _the acknowledgement that he was doing the job well enough to get the confirmation.

"That's good," he said slowly.

"Is it? You sound doubtful." There was something probing about the Director's tone, and he wished he were as good as Tony at hearing unspoken words. Tony. That was it.

"Gibbs said he wouldn't be getting the team back; I was sad, and I was relieved as well. We can't do it all over again. Er... who _will_ I be working for, Director?"

She regarded him steadily. "You know very well who I have in mind, Special Agent McGee," she said flatly. "And he wouldn't have it taken away again this time either. I simply haven't asked him yet. Can you work with him again? Do you want to? Will he want to work with you?"

To her great pride, he answered at once. "Couldn't speak for Tony, Director... but given the choice I don't want to work for anyone else." She still looked at him quizzically, and he went on. " I enjoyed working with him this last few days – "

"Anything was preferable to Gibbs?"

"Not exactly." He actually chuckled briefly. "No, that's really not it! It wasn't easy working for Tony the first time round. We gave him a hard time because he wouldn't let us wallow in a... a puddle of abandonment, and he gave us a hard time because we wanted to wallow, and we wouldn't toe the line. It got better as it went along – for us, at least. Tony never spoke of how it was for him, and until Abby got on his case when he finally gave in and left us, I realised I never gave it a thought either. It'll be different this time. I... er... I think we like each other better after this last case." He looked anxious. "D'you think he'll say no?"

Jenny shook her head wryly. "We'll just have to wait and see... Have you spoken to Ziva?"

"No. She disappeared around the same time Gibbs went for coffee, like...ten minutes ago; I've not seen either of them since. They weren't together though; they spoke outside the elevator but Ziva didn't follow him into it."

Jenny nodded. She smiled inside; she was pretty sure being aware of your surroundings was one of DiNozzo's fledgling list of rules... Maybe neither agent was even aware that it had rubbed off one onto the other. She returned to her original subject, since there was no way that she could speak of Ziva's choice if the Mossad officer had not mentioned it.

"We won't have to wait very long, Tim; Alex called and said Tony intends to come back to work tomorrow." She began to turn away, but Tim spoke with an odd mix of urgency and diffidence.

"Director... er... where will this leave Special Agent Dominguez?"

"She's Tony's probie... there's no need to change that, is there?"

"No... I think they're a good partnership." No need to mention that the Latina and the Israeli were going to have to sheath their claws if they were going to work together. They'd managed it the past few days, it'd be OK.

Jenny nodded briskly, and went back up to her office. As she walked into Cynthia's realm, she was surprised to see Ziva sitting calmly on the comfortable chair opposite her PA's desk. She stood up as the Director entered, but didn't speak, politely leaving that to Cynthia.

"Director, have you a moment to see Officer David? I suggested she should wait until you returned."

"Of course. Come in, Ziva." She closed the door and waited.

"Jenny, I have thought about your offer. I believe I would be effective as part of the anti-terrorism team."

"I'm sure you would, Ziva." She waited.

Ziva frowned. "That is all I wanted to say, Jenny. I would like to go to the Pentagon team. When would I join them?"

"As soon as possible. But you haven't taken all the time I gave you to think about it... does Gibbs' news have anything to do with your decision?

The Israeli shrugged eloquently. "Things are changing. It seems a good time for a change for me also."

"It makes sense," Jenny agreed. "Ziva, I should tell you that I'm going to offer Tony the leadership of MCRT again, this time permanently. Would that be likely to change your decision?"

"No!" Ziva said instantly and vehemently, and Jenny looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I had almost made my decision, and when Gibbs said he was taking leave I made my mind up. Tony is not a factor in my desire to do something new."

_I don't believe you're fooling anyone but yourself, Ziva, but it's none of my business. _"Monday, then. I'll begin the paperwork right away. I'll ask the team leader to come over and meet you later this week; if he's in DC, of course. Do you need any time off to make preparations?"

"Such things do not take long. The weekend will be sufficient."

Jenny nodded. "If you're sure, Ziva. I'll speak to you again when I've something to update you with. Good luck."

Ziva returned to her desk; Tim looked up but she didn't seem to want to say anything, so he returned to work. Gibbs came out of the elevator a minute or so later; he'd brought coffee for them both, which he set on their desks without a word. They thanked him, but apart from that they all worked on in a strained and bewildered silence for the rest of the afternoon.

Gibbs was puzzled, and wondered just how much he didn't know the people he worked with. He'd gone for coffee, (and was her in the habit of bringing it back for them?) so they could talk about his leaving without his having to listen, call him whatever they wanted to and discuss what they were going to do next, who'd replace him, that stuff... but it was obvious from the way they were sitting stiffly, the way they hadn't sprung apart and stopped in mid-conversation with guilty looks, that they hadn't done so. He didn't understand... but hey, their problem.

It was heading towards six o'clock, and since nothing new had been called in Gibbs was just ready to call time, when Tim's phone buzzed. He bit his lip and squared his shoulders before answering.

"Abs, how are you doing?"

"_I'm fine, Tim!"_

"Really?"

"_Yes, really! Honestly, Timmy, I won't try to get out of this course again, it's good! It's inspirational! Well maybe I've just got a good bunch of students, or maybe everyone else had horrible ones or said it was boring because they don't like teaching, but they listen and they give me good answers and they're learning quickly and I get as much out of teaching as they get from learning!"_

When he'd sorted out all the 'they's, Tim said tentatively, "You're two days in, Abs, are you sure you –"

"_Of course I can keep it up for nine weeks, Tim! I think I just needed a change, to get a different perspective! But just for a while, not for ever! I called the Director, and told her she was right, and I'll see things differently when I come back – you have to here, there are all sorts of rules like they have to call me Ma'am, which is silly, but there are good rules too, and I can't go bending them to suit me... and I miss you all, Tim, and I'll see you all at the weekend, and maybe I'll be able to talk to Tony and d'you think he'll forgive me for hitting him? Even Gibbs told me I was wrong... is he all right? Is Gibbs all right? And Ziva?"_

"I think he already has, Abs... they're fine..." He stopped, tongue-tied; he had no idea how to go on, and he should have known better; the Abby radar went off instantly.

"_Tim! What aren't you telling me?"_

"Nothing, Abby."

"_Abby's rule number one – do not lie to Abby! Come on, Timmy, or I'll drive up right now, only I'll have my dinner first and take my time and arrive on your doorstep at 1am and ruin your sleep. What's going on?"_

Tim sighed; by now Ziva and Gibbs were watching, but he didn't put it on speaker. "We solved both cases –"

"_I know, I got your text. What didn't you tell me?"_

"Tony got hurt. Not very much. I bet he'll be back at work tomorrow." He became seriously aware of strange noises emerging from his phone that he'd disregarded before, but they were getting louder. "Abby, what's that I can hear in the background?"

"_Nothing. I don't know what you mean. What happened to Tony?"_

"He got stabbed in the arm. He's fine. Abby, what's going on? It sounds like a puppy!"

"_No it's not! It's seagulls! A puppy would be **so** against the regulations here. I haven't got a puppy! Why would you think that? Now, how's Gibbs? Tim? Tim!"_

"Gibbs is fine Abs –"

Gibbs squared his shoulders. It wasn't fair to expect McGee to deal with this. "Tell Abs to give me fifteen minutes to get home, and I'll call her. Go home yourselves." He got up and headed for the door.

"Abs – "

"_I heard. Take care of yourself, Timmy, I'll see you at the weekend."_

"'Kay. Bye, Abs." _I'm sure that was a dog I could hear..._

NCISNCISNCIS

"_Gibbs! What's wrong? Is Tony really all right? Timmy wasn't telling me something..."_

"DiNozzo's fine, Abs. Least, I don't think McGee would lie, ya know?"

"_No, he wouldn't. I don't think he can. Gibbs, what's going on?"_

The Marine sat down heavily on his basement steps, shaking his head to himself. Notwithstanding her sideways and downright childish behaviour since his return, which he'd not actually discouraged he reminded himself, she was very dear to him – he wished he could remember the half of why... he didn't want to send her into another spiral.

"Got something to tell you, Abs. Was gonna wait until the weekend..."

Her voice was absolutely level. _"You're going away again."_

"Yeah, Abs, I am. Thing is..." He spoke, in short, awkward bursts for maybe five minutes, telling her about Tony's determined reasoning out of the case in the face of his obstruction; Abe, and his growing conviction that something needed to be done. Apart from the odd quiet 'mm-hmm' to let him know she was still there, Abby never said a word. "... so that's what I'm going to do."

"_You'll get well," _she said finally, with certainty. Her voice was desolate, but firm as she went on, _"Tell me you __**will **__be back."_

"I _will_ be back."

"_That's good enough for me then. You don't lie to Abby. I love you, Gibbs."_

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony sat on the edge of an autopsy table, shivering without his shirt, and mumbling around a thermometer. "M'temp'ture's fine, Du'y..."

"We'll decide that when I've taken the reading, Anthony. Alex said she thought you were a little feverish last night..."

"Hnhh... ri... shho Dom'nguez ratted me out," he finished clearly as Ducky extracted the device from between his teeth.

"You're not supposed to chew it, Anthony. Now, let's see that shoulder... yes, fine, healing very cleanly..." he put a clean, lightweight dressing over the wound. "You can put your shirt back on now."

Tony slid off the table, and was reaching for the garment, hung neatly over a chair, when the door swished open.

"Good morning, Ducky; have you heard from – oh, he's here." Jenny tried not to run her eyes over her newest Supervisory Special Agent too obviously; although it was after all a Director's right to reassure herself that her people were fit. "Good morning, Tony. Special Agent Dominguez wasn't sure where you were. I'd like to speak to you in my office right away, please – I just need a brief word with Ducky."

Tony finished putting his shirt on, awkwardly with the limited use of his left hand, and hastily – it wasn't often that a guy got checked out by his _director_!

When he'd disappeared through the door, struggling into the sling Ducky knew he'd take right off again, Jenny handed the slim file she'd been carrying back to Ducky. "Thank you for your insight; you managed to tell me a great deal about Jethro and Abe, without actually giving away any doctor-patient privilege. Very shrewd, Ducky!"

"Well, I know it will only be used to help Jethro, so I don't have too much conscience about it. Tell me, are you going to make the offer to Tony now?"

Jenny smiled. "Not so much an offer this time, more a 'you'll damn well do as I say'..."

Ducky beamed. "I may expect him back down here before the end of the day, then."

"You may indeed." Jenny left with a smile, and rode up in the elevator to find Tony politely waiting in her outer office. When they'd entered her sanctum, she turned without preamble and said "Gibbs is taking leave of absence. I want you to take over MCRT."

He was absolutely silent for a stunned moment, then said, "No, Jen. Hell, no way. No!"

"And why not?"

"Oh, I _so_ enjoyed it last time Gibbs came back and kicked me to the kerb... I can't wait to do it again. No way, Jen, never."

"I wouldn't do that to you again, Tony," she said reprovingly. "I thought you'd have realised that. And you were the one who turned down Rota, remember."

"Sorry... yeah..."

"Gibbs agrees, 'all the change that needs to be done gets done now'... so does Special Agent McGee – speaking of you – 'given the choice I wouldn't want to work for anyone else'."

"Oh... What about Gibbs then? You said 'leave of absence'. Will he come back? I mean, how is he? He won't tell me..."

Jenny suddenly felt desperately sorry, in a way she hadn't before, for the agent whose loyalty had been kicked about like a football. "Come and sit down, Tony." He was reluctant, looking as if he'd bolt first chance he got, but she took the time to explain exactly what had transpired on the one eventful day that he'd been absent.

"So... you think he _will _come back, in the end."

"Yes, with his head on straight, he says. But not to MCRT. That's yours now. With Tim."

"And I can keep Alex." He paused. "You've not said anything about Ziva."

Jenny shook her head. "You should talk to her. Now, Tony, I'm telling you. Take on MCRT."

"OK." He tried to smile.

His legs felt like rubber as he walked slowly down the stairs. Only Tim was at his desk, and he read the unreadable look on Tony's face as he glanced over at Gibbs' empty desk. He got up and went to meet him.

"You did say yes, right?" The other man hesitated. "Tony, don't tell me you have some misguided idea that it's not the right thing to do!"

"I hear you want to work for me, McGee. My SFA?"

"Yeah. Dammit, do I have to plead?"

"Hell, no. Don't even think about it!"

"It'll be different this time – "

"Hey. I know. I said yes. Just... didn't ever want it this way. Sideways..."

Tim decided to go for it. He reached out and gripped Tony's good shoulder. "It's sideways and _forwards_. It'll be OK."

Gibbs and Ziva came out of the elevator, deep in conversation at that moment, and Tony made to move away from the bull pen, but Gibbs stopped in front of him. "Today's Wednesday, DiNozzo. Tomorrow I'll be clearin' my desk. Earliest you can have it's Friday. Not today."

The younger man smiled; that easy-going grin that he used as a mask. "Just talking to a friend, Gibbs." He lowered his voice. "Boss," he said softly, "you _will _be back, right?"

"Not your Boss, DiNozzo." Gibbs didn't bother to lower his voice. "Why don't ya just quit botherin' and hasslin', and worry about your life, and let me worry about mine?"

Tony just looked at him steadily. "Something you need to remember, Gibbs. I've always had your six, and I always will. You'll never get rid of me." He walked quietly away to his own desk, hearing Gibbs' 'hmph' behind him; he tore the sling off his arm with a little more impatience than was necessary, and dropped it on the floor.

Alex was next out of the elevator, carrying the usual breakfast sack. She raised an eyebrow at the expression on her Boss's face as she passed his food over to him. He shook his head. "Let's enjoy breakfast, then I'll tell you. Will you want the good or the bad news first?"

"How bad is it?" she asked, her voice going up to an alarmed squeak.

"Nothing dire... just... I feel –"

"Tony, may I have a word with you?"

Ziva had sat at her desk, thinking again what she'd been thinking on the journey in. She'd called Jenny to ask if Tony knew of her decision, to be told no, talk to him. She didn't want to, she wished the Director had done it for her... he had feelings for her, she knew; it was going to be difficult to tell him she was leaving, he'd ask her to stay, and she'd have to be firm and not let him try to persuade her. If he pleaded she'd have to have some gentle put-down ready, and so far she hadn't thought of one. It was best to get it over with.

Tony said "Sure, Zi," and rose from his seat. As he followed her to the nearest conference room, he rcalled Tim's warning._ "Ziva's got something on her mind." _Jenny had told him to talk to her, she hadn't said anything of Ziva's feelings about him as leader. She was leaving, he concluded. He wondered if she'd decided before or after Gibbs had given them his news. He wondered if the fact that he'd be the new team leader was a contributing factor, and decided that was one question he'd never ask. He couldn't take the answer either way. He waited.

"Tony... I have something to tell you. Jenny has offered me a new position, and I have decided to take it." She waited for his reaction, watching his face closely.

He looked thoughtful and nodded slightly. "What will you be doing?"

"I... I am joining an anti-terrorism team. I will be based at the Pentagon."

He smiled. "That's marvellous news," he said. "You'll be great in anti-terrorism, and we're all here, just across the river if you ever need us. Congratulations, Ziva!"

This wasn't what she had expected. "You are pleased?"

"I'm happy for you. I'd have been happy for you to stay on MCRT too, but hey, I want _you_ to be happy, and this could be the thing..." He bent and kissed her forehead. "Good luck. And don't forget we're here, OK?"

"No... of course not, Tony." Ziva left the conference room ahead of him, feeling as if the wind had been taken right out of her bellows... or whatever it was. Tony followed, feeling every shade of regret and pain at the whole situation; he just had to believe McGee was right... it'd be different this time...

There was an email from Abby when he got back to his desk.

_Tony... I should have mailed before, but honestly, I have been so busy – did Tim tell you I like teaching here? That doesn't mean I don't want to come back, because I do, but I'll do my job here first. And I thought it might be good to let you cool down a bit before I asked you if you'd forgive the way I was. No excuses, I was so mixed up – but of course that's an excuse and I said no excuses!_

_I'm so sorry I hurt you. It means I'm down here when I should be up there looking after you guys now Gibbs won't be there to. I've told Timmy to look after you – he told me about Ziva too, well it seems as if everyone's going but I'll be back soon. Please look after him, and yourself, and I'll see you soon, and we'll all keep tabs on Gibbs, wherever he is._

_Abs_

He rattled off a quick reply. _Missing you already... will phone tonight. _And he would. He dashed one off to Alex: _How would you like to be my probie on the MCRT? _He sat grinning at her incredulous reaction as she read it.

NCISNCISNCIS

He'd spent the day, the first of his leave, buying supplies for the boat. He'd rooted out his life-jacket, and checked it was still in good condition, but he bought a new GPS chip and beacon for it to be on the safe side.

Abby rang at intervals, in morning break time, lunch time, afternoon break; she was full of reassurances that they wanted him to come back to them safely, that the break would do him good, that she wasn't mad at him. She didn't say whether she was driving back that evening or leaving it until she'd had a night's sleep, but as he wandered around his basement disconsolately putting things away, _the end of an era... _he had a thought that made him feel guilty. It'd been difficult enough dealing with her on the phone; he couldn't cope with her face to face tonight. At her quietest she was like a hurricane, and he truly needed peace right now. When night fell he made up his mind. He felt mean, as he went up the stairs, switched all the lights above basement level off, and _locked his front door._

Back to being aimless in the basement... he ran his hand over the ribs of the new boat; he had no idea when he'd work on it again. He had no desire to touch it tonight. _He wished he could talk to DiNozzo. _Where did that thought come from? He sat on a saw-horse with his hands dangling between his knees, looking at the stairs, wondering if he saw the younger man sitting there. A memory or making it up? Had he actually thought enough of the guy once that he'd let him down here? He wished he understood...

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard the front door rattle. He didn't make a sound, annoyed that he hadn't heard a car draw up, but reminding himself that Abby's hearse was very quiet. There was another rattle, and then silence. Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't got mad enough to kick the door down. A moment later he heard an engine start up, and he froze. A big engine... an unmistakeable classic Ford V8... a Mustang. DiNozzo had a Mustang...

Gibbs knocked the saw-horse over as he leapt to his feet. He ran up the stairs and through the house as if the devil was after him. He fumbled with the lock in his haste; when he needed a steady hand it shook and failed him. He raced out of the door and down the short path, in time to see the tail lights fading, and hear the sound of the big engine dwindling. He stood in the middle of the street, arms hanging, defeated.

At the end of the road the tail lights flared suddenly; there was a harsh sound of brakes... and the Mustang came back up the road faster in reverse than it had gone down it.

The End.


End file.
